Slava Bohu The Story Of The Dukhobors

131 434

T 11 IC S T O R y 0 F
Til E D IJKIIOBORS

BY

J. F. C. Wright

FARRAR & RINEHART, INC.

N B W YORK

TORONTO

COPYRIGHT, 1940 , BY J. F. a WRIGHT

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
BY THE FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY, NEW YORK

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

AUTHOR'S NOTE

“Slava Hohu” nioan.s "Praise God,” or, more literally, "Praised
be God.” It has lonji; been used by Dukhobors in greeting one
atiothcr, on saying good-bye, for a good crop, or at the cow’s
death, e.specially if she happened to lie old and going dry.

I became intcres>ted in the Dukhobors in 1932. T was intrigued
by the paradox of frugal, hard-working farmers worshipping a
turbulent leader who.se personal life was, in most ways, diametri-
cally opposed to Dukhobor beliefs and practices. In that year,
when I was organizing for the Sa.skatchewau h’anner-Labour
Party, I talked with them at their work and in their homes and
read tlie few available KngHsh-language books about them. In the
fall of 1935, on finishing .some work for the Saskatchewan
"Wheat Pool," I went to Blaine l,.«ake district where through the
winter I lived with Dukhobors settled along the North Saskatche-
wan Kiver. I spent the spring t)f 1936 in the Yorktt)n-Swain JRiver
area where there is a large Dukhobor settlement. In May, out of
funds, I took a newspaper job on the Saskatoon Star-Phoenix,
and during the next twelve months .sorted my notes and saved a
few tiollars. In the spring of 1937 I returned to Yorkton, and that
sunmuT went to the .settlements in Ilriti.sh Columbia. Throughout
uie winter of 1937-38\I co-ordinated my notes with material
gleaju’d from Rti.ssian church and .state reports, from the diaries
<){ (Quakers aitd other idealists who liad visited the Dukhobots in
Russia and C.'ana(hi, from various books and pamphlets in English
atid Russian, and from Canadian Government file.s. As my manu-
script progressed I gave alnu).st all the living men and women in
the story the opportunity to affirm or deny words and actions
attributed to themselves. I have not anywhere deviated from the
facts Jis I was able to ascertain them, nor have f fictiotiized any
episode or incident in the l)ook from Chapter Two to the end.
C3tapter One is the exception. I was unable to find out exactly
how and when the Dukhobors originated nearly 300 years ago,
so ('hapter One is a composite talc of the .sect’s "beginning” bast^tl
upon folklore, legend, and historical fragments.

I have had, of course, difficulty in spelling Rus.sian names in the
English language. I have used "Dukhobor”,.ipi.j 3 a!ference to

vi author’s note

“Doukhobor," “Dookhobor,” or “Doiikhobor.” “Du” is consistoul
with die spelling and pronunciation of several other words in the
history, such as Duiiia, Lukeria, rulile, muzhik. “Du" is pro-
nounced like “do” in “do not.” Moreover, “Dukhohor" was
endorsed by Sir Bernard Pares, Professor of Russian I.anguage
and History, University of London, Kngland, and president ot
the Anglo-Slavic Relations Committee.

In spelling names of Dukhobors themselves, .such of PopolT,
Maliarloff, Makaroff, and so forth, I liave used "off” instead of
"ov.” “Off” was the ending the Canadian immigration authorities
wrote down in recording the names of the Dukhohor immigrants,
and the Dukhobors mainly sign their names in this way. A few
have since changed the spelling of their names ; for in.stance, sev-
eral sons of Nikito Popoff use Papove. Of the numerous KazaktdT
family, one, Micluel Kazakoff, decided to spell his name t azakoff.
In cases sucli as these I have adliercd to the choice of the individ-
uals concerned. In translating names of Russians who are not of
the Dukhohor sect, I have used the ending “ov," such as llilkov,
Tchertkov, and so on, except where the owners wen' living tmd
using “off.” I have written “Tolstoy" instead of “'Dtlstoi” heeattse
Tolstoy is the way the great writer a.sked that his name he spelt in
English. Tolstoy’s kust letter but one before he died was written t<t
Aylmer Maude whom he apjiointed his hiogra])her and translator
in the English language. In a letter to me, Maude asked that tlu'
name of Tolstoy be .spelt with a “y” and not with an “i," and he
pointed out that the spelling “Tolstoi” bad crept ijito Isnglish
because translators had looked to French translations for their
source, instead of to the original Russian. T have .shortened
Soulerzhitski to Sulerjit.ski. He is the Stilerzhit.ski, or Huler/.hizky,
about whom Maxim Gorky wrote so fascinatingly in hi.s “Remi-
niscences of Tolstoy, CTickhov, and Andreev,”

“Caucasia” is selected for this history ittstead of “t atica,sits"
or “Tran.s-Cauca.sia.” The Russians aill this area Kavkaz, ami
spell it tliat way too, “a” a.s in “balmy." Other choice.s sind inno-
vations of spelling Russian words result fnwn the struggle to
transliterate.

In writing this book I have been aided by students of the Dukho-
bors, and I gratefully acknowledge the help of Aylmer Maude,
Leo Sulerjitski, and Vladimir Boiich-BruivicU. Maude's rcswirdi,
partly set forth in his A PECUUAK PEOPLE, THE IH)U-
KHOBOJRS was most valuable in compiling Chapter 'I’wo of
SLAVA BOHU. Without Sulcrjitski’s brilliant diary, WITH

AUTHOR^S NOTE

vii

run DUKHOBORS IN AMERICA, of which I made free use
in chapters eleven, twelve, and fourteen, I could not have por-
trayed the human side of the voyage of the SS. Lake Huron and
the first years of settlement in Clanada. lionch-Bruivich’s analysis
of the early communes in the North West Territories, his pub-
lished collection of Peter Vasilivich Verigin’s letters, and his re-
search into remote Dnkhobor history were greatly helpful.

I also wish to acknowledge with deep gratitude the help given
me by Professor Arthur S. Morton, Head of the Ili.story Depart-
ment, University of Saskatchewan, and authority on the history
of Western Uanada; Charles Cl.iy, Literary Editor, Winnipeg
Free Press; Senator Cairine Wilson, Canadian Senate; H. O.
McCurry, Director, National (lallery of Canada; W. R. (ilarkc,
I'klitorial Writer, Ros^ikatoon Star-Phaenix; Dora Dibuey, Tele-
graj>h b'ditor, Regina Leader-Post ; Ethel Saper, Yorkton; h'rnst
Lindner, Sa.skatoon; h'. F. Bayne, I’ublishcr, Nelson Daily Ncivs;
Victor (Tu.se, Sa.skatoon: Je.ssie McEwen, ICditor, 'riiomas Nelson
& Sons, Toronto; J, W. Dafoe, Editor, Winnipeg Free Press;
J. Murniy (iibbcni, (leneral Puldiclty Agent, Canadian Pacific
Kailwtiy; Jack McBride, Bethany; (ieucral S. '1'. Wood, Commis-
sioner, R<))ffil Canadi.'in Mounted Police; ICrnst Davis, Saskatoon
Public, fjbrary; M. J. Coldwell, M.P. ; Victor Sifton, Publisher;
Dr. O. D. Skelton, tfnder Secretary of State for ICxterual Affairs;
b'velyn Ro.senthal, C)ll,awa; Henry Werblow, Bennington, Ver-
mont; b'rank Ifliason, Secretary, llnited h'arniers of Canada,
.Saskatchewan .Section.

Dukhobors who gave me mo!?t valuable co-opor,ation speak for
thenuselves in this hi.story. Without the help of these men and
women, who worked with me tliat all might have an objective
account of their background, this l««)k could not have been
written.

J.E.(;.W.

CONTENTS

1 Genesis: 1665 3

2 Historical Background 10

3 Caucasia 21

4 Lukeria 31

5 Schism 42

6 Peter Vasilivich Verigin 55

7 Siberia 67

8 Burning of the Guns 78

9 Universal Brotherhood 89

10 Turning to Canada 103

11 Exodus 118

12 Prairie Settlement 132

13 Community Controversy 142

14 Railway Grade 156

15 Much Trouble 167

16 What to Do? 178

17 Pilgrimage 187

18 Kristos Leaves Siberia 197

19 Nakedness . . . ’ 207

20 Sons of Freedom 218

21 Maids and Catechism 222

22 Land Reversion 233

23 Nudity in Fort William 242

24 British Columbia Trek 250

X

CONTENTS

25 Further Philosophizing 255

26 Royal Commission 259

27 War Madness 267

28 Sly Policies 274

29 Railway Explosion 276

30 Lewd Parables 286

31 Peter Rasputin 296

32 Fantasia 303

33 Nude Strategy 307

34 White Horse to Mexico 316

35 Fire Fanatics 330

36 Perjury and Piers Island 334

37 Deportation Fiasco 343

38 Mixed Proceedings 351

39 Politics 359

40 Petushka Perversity 362

41 Kaput 365

42 Murder 373

43 Man THE Unknown 384

44 Sincerity AND Slyness 392

45 Ghost in the Basement 401

46 Disintegration 411

47 Revelations: to 1940 426

To

the rising generation of Dukhobors
and friends whose moral and material
help made this work possible.

CHAPTER ONE

GENESIS: 1665

IN THE MYSTERIOUS GLOAMING which foUows sunset
and heralds the approach of night in Central Russia, a lone row-
boat approached a serf village. Short, furtive squeaks, and faint
splashes of disturbed water broke the silence of the winding river.
Lifting his oars from the shadowy water, Peter, the peasant
philosopher, turned again to scan the bank where the cattle came
down to drink, and where the night fishermen took to their boats.
No one was there. While yet a few hundred yards from the land-
ing, he guided the boat into a small breakwater of driftwood,
tied it, and climbed cautiously through the overhanging willows.

He ascended the bank and there in a clump of poplars, stood
still to listen. Peter was grateful for the singing from the mud
and wicker walls of the village, it would make his approach less
conspicuous. Also, one of those strong young voices might be his
wife’s ; for despite the stiff pain in the ^y-old welts on his broad
back, he could not forget it was more than three months since he
had seen her.

Evening dampness accentuated the smells of the pasture as he
walked toward the village gate. The barking of a watchdog did
not trouble him, he knew all the dogs and they would not have
forgotten him. But there was at least one night watchman to be
avoided and several serfs who might report his homecoming to
the big house, the lights of which glimmered on the hill beyond
the village.

Entering the gate he turned along a lane, unnoticed. The last
of the women milkers were picking their way through the cattle
yard. By the hut of his father-in-law, young men and women
stood talking and laughing in enjoyment of that hour which fol-
lowed the evening meal. He waflced past them, as if he too had
been in the fields all day.

There was light in the window. He tried the door but it was
bolted, so he knocked.

“Who is there?”

He recognized Vasili’s voice.

“Open. It is I, Peter,” he said.

3

4

SLAVA BOHU

“Peter !” said Nastasia, the daughter, “It is Peter, my husband.
Let him in, Nikifor.”

Nikifor, the youngest lad, opened the door, fastening the bolt
again as soon as Peter was inside.

Peter, known among the villagers for a self-assurance not com-
mon to the serf of Muscovy in the year 1655, removed his hard-
peaked cap and greeted the excited members of the family with the
triple kiss ; first on the left chedk, then on the right, and lastly full
on the mouth. Nastasia he kissed last; his nearness sending the
blood to her sun-browned face.

"Sadis, sit down, Peter, you must be very hungry.” She went
to the oven for the copper bowl in which was soup left from the
evening meal. Their two small children stirred in their beds by the
stove, as if they dreamt of the faraway place.

“They, from the big house, asked us where you had gone.”
Andrew the herdsman stroked his graying mustache. “We told
them we didn’t know, which was true.”

Nikifor, a slim lad for a peasant, sat at the end of the table,
his head cupped in his hands, eager to hear of Peter’s travels.

Veisili, with bucolic but calculating blue eyes, had a separate
room where he and his family slept. He had been about to join
them when Peter came, but now his curiosity made him stay.

The main room, in which lived four generations, was meagerly
lighted by pine slivers held in a crack of the great day oven which
protruded into Vasili’s room. On each side of the long table,
bleached white with much scrubbing, were wooden benches. There
were several stools, sleeping platforms with feather tides and
sheepskins, a spinning wheel, a faggot broom. There were no
cupboards, no cups, no plates.

“Tell us where you lave been and what you have done, Peter,”
asked Andrew.

Peter, his wooden spoon halfway from the great bowl to his
mouth, paused as if to answer.

“Why do you not take off your coat, it is warm in here,” said
Nastasia. With evident stiffness, he removed his sheepskin.

Nastasia was first to cry out: “Look at his shirt. It is all tom.
It is blood!”

"Da, it is dry blood 1” Grandfather peered doser,

Nastasia hdped him pull the remains of his shirt over his head.

“See those wdts 1”

“The whip must have cut him to the bone!” Nastasia gasped.
“Poor Peter, why do they treat us so?”

genesis: 1665

5

“What happened?” Andrew asked in a tense voice.

Peter turned to face them.

“You know why I went away. I wanted to find freedom for
all of us,” he said. “At first I found ever)?thing the same; unless
you have government papers to show that you are free, you can-
not work openly, and soldiers always are asking questions. I
lived; for kind people are everywhere. As I went farther toward
the southwest looking for freedom, things became easier because
there were fewer soldiers and landlords.”

“But tell us how you got whipped,” said Nastasia.

“That happened on my way back, not far from home. In a town
where I stopped, a family gave me bread and onions, but told me
I should not stay. They said the new governor had arrived, a bad
and hard man. I took my bread, and, seeing an old church, with
big trees around it, I went into the yard to eat and rest. While I
was there two priests came out of the church. They stood on the
steps, disputing. I could hear them but they couldn’t see me. One
said the sign of the cross should be made with only two fingers ;
the other, that three fingers should be used.

“ ‘But,’ said the first priest, ‘as far back as I can remember, we
used only two fingers.’

“ ‘Da, yes,’ said the second, ‘but God in His wisdom has re-
vealed to Archbishop Nikon, that we have been wrong, and now,
the right way is with three fingers, and I believe him.’

“Each priest argued that the Holy Spirit was in favor of his
own way of making the sign of the cross,” Peter continued. “I
rose from behind Ae trees where I had been sitting. ‘You are
both wrong,’ I told them. ‘The Holy Spirit is not concerned
whether you make the sign of the cross with two fingers, three
fingers, or with all fingers on both hands. And if you priests had
enough of the Holy Spirit within, you would not be squabbling
over such foolish things.’ At first they looked startled, then one
grew very red in his face, and both became angry, saying that I
would have to pay for my insulting and blasphemous words. I
told them if they wanted to use their fingers as the Holy Spirit
would desire, they would dig in the garden for their food like
other people.”

“I turned my back on them and walked away; one of them
shouting after me, ‘You’ll repent this !’

“I w^ed away from the town, and, keeping out of sight where
possible, went toward the house of some peasants who would
welcome me.

6

SLAVA BOHU

“But when I was crossing the government road to the estate
where they live, two soldiers on horseback chased me. I ran to
some bushes, but they caught me. One hit me across my back with
a kmt, and the other said, 'This is the muzhik we want.’ Then
they drove me back to town, making me run so fast that when I
came to the governor’s place, I was breathing like a tired ox. The
two priests came and told the governor I had blasphemed the Holy
Spirit.

“ ‘Oh,’ said the governor, baring his teeth at me like an angry
dog, ‘You are wrestling with the Holy Spirit, eh? You are a spirit
wrestler, a dukhobor? Tie him to the post, and whip him across
his back.’

“The soldiers stretched my arms above my head with a thong so
that my feet just touched the ground. The whip whined through
the air and I was sick even before it cut my back. But with the
third whack I mastered m)rsdf and kept from crying aloud.

" 'Postoil Wait !’ I heard one of the priests say. ‘Possibly he
will repent now. Do you see the error of your ways ?’ he asked,
coming close to me. ‘Are you sorry you blasphemed the Holy
Spirit?’

“ ‘Have you learned how many fingers you should use to make
the sign of the cross?’ I asked. ‘Possibly that is your business, but
my belief is that the Holy Spirit tells me I have nothing to repent.’
I couldn’t say more because my throat was dry and my lips were
tremblii^.

“ ‘Teach him a lesson,’ shouted the governor, and down came
the whip so many times I lost count. When they stopped beating
and untied me, I could hardly stand and went away staggering.
I stayed in some bushes by the river, for they might have followed
me to my friends and persecuted them.

“When darkness came, I started for home, following the river.
Later, I took a boat; God will forgive, my need was great.’’

“I am afraid much trouble is coming,’’ said Vasili resignedly.

There was silence for a moment. Grandfather sat with his head
in his hands, looking down at the table, slowly running his gnarled
old fingers through his white hair. Vasili played a game with his
fingers, first extending two fingers in the manner of the Old Be-
lievers, then three after the fashion of Archbishop Nikon’s ruling.

"Tak, cheer up. We’re not all dead yet,” laughed Peter, pulling
on a dean shirt

Nikifor’s young face was flushed and his eyes shone with ad-
miration: “So they called you ‘Spirit Wrestler, Duldiobor?’ They

genesis: 1665

7

can call me a Dukhobor, too. I will follow you anywhere ... to
any faraway place where we can live our lives.” His words were
suddenly hushed. “Quiet! Someone is coming!”

“Those footsteps — ^he walks like the overseer from the big
house,” whispered the woman.

Nikifor, who had been by the door to listen, resumed his place
at the table.

Peter began to recite a prayer of the Orthodox. All bowed their
heads reverently. The footsteps paused by the door, then moved
away.

“Enough of that prayer.” Peter refilled his spoon with soup.
“Slava Bohu. Praise God. The Christ within us truly tells us we
cannot serve God while our hands are tied in bondage to the land-
lord. From seedtime until harvest and through the winter we toil,
yet we have nothing that is ours. Each week we worship idols in
the village church. The authority of tsars and archbishops, land-
lords and priests, we must reject forever. Then each of us will
listen only to his own reason and his conscience, and all will live
peacefully together as brothers and sisters.”

It was not the first time these humble folk gathered around the
same rough table had heard similar pronouncements, but the
proclamation of Peter was most impressive. There was conviction
in his resonant voice. As they gazed at him, his people drew
strength. Had he not confounded the priests and by his courage
scoffed at the soldiers’ whips? Had he not, with his back alone,
lifted a loaded wagon from a rut in the road? Yet he laughed with
the children and they called him uncle. Such a man deserved to be
listened to.

For three months he had been away, had traveled far ; despite
his wounds, he had brought back a stirring of life, like wind blow-
ing through a field of grain.

“The time has come when each must heed the voice within and
fulfill the will of God,” Peter continued. “Each day, each week,
each year we stay in Ae rut, it will be harder to climb out. And
we shall be slaves forever to landlords, priests and captains.”

Everyone listened expectantly. Nikifor, dreamer, lover of song
and nature, saw in the inspiration of Peter a way to leave bdhind
the drab existence of serfdom. Vasili weighed the speaker’s words
through half-closed eyes. Grandfather shuddered involuntarily at
the thought that someone might betray this dangerous talk to the
master, and said, “Nikifor, go outside to make sure no one is
listening.”

8

SLAVA BOHU

Nikifor saw nothing but the glow in the north where sunset
blends with the dawn of early summer. He walked to the back of
the hut to make sure no one was lurking. From the village gate
came the sound of the night watchman’s wooden clapper. Mist
was rising from the river, and a cow coughed in the cattle yard.

“Many miles from here,” Peter said, “near a river men call the
Dniqjr, there is land good enough to grow all we need, and no
masters are there. Neither are there priests, nor tsar’s officials. It
is a country of black soil, good water, tall grasses and green trees,
far away from Moscow.”

“But possibly robbers are there?” objected the fat Vasili. “An
unde of mine, in the time of Tsar Mikhael, went away to a far-off
place to find land. He never returned, and it is said he was killed
by robbers.”

“No ! Robbers are not there,” Peter replied. “There are a few
Gsssacks of the kind who neither obey tsars, nor steal from hon-
est peasants. The time has come, God tells us that we ourselves
must go there to live in the spirit of Christ.”

"Pravda, I will go!” dedared Nikifor.

“It would be very good to live like brothers and sisters in
Christ,” Nastasia offered. “But it is very far. It is dangerous.
And how would we take our children?”

“I, too, would like land of my own and to live as God wills, but
how is it possible to go when we could not get papers, and when
we might be arrested for running away?” queried Vasili.

“As for eating on the way, let that not worry you,” Peter re-
plied. “How did I eat when I was away? Did I grbw the food I
ate? No. And who among us knows of an honest man or woman
who has come to us and who has been turned away hungry? It is
the same elsewhere. In every village there are men and women
who will feed us, give us a place to sleep and keep us secret.
Surely, they too have to go to church and bow before ikons.
They, too, pull their caps from their heads when the priest speaks
to them, and they must kiss the master’s hand on holidays; yet
many b^eve all men are equal, and that we should bow to no one
except the God within.”

“But how can we take with us oxen or carts, or much seed? We
would have no papers and be arrested.” Vasili turned his thick
palms upward in despairing gesture.

“We can take a little seed and what gold we have,” said Peter,
fixing his eyes on the fat one. “You look like a man who h^
collected a few coins.”

genesis; 1665

9

“My little is very little.”

“But think what we could do in the new life,” said Nikifor.

“When harvest conies, we might earn along the way?” ventured
Andrew.

“I feel I am too old to go,” sighed the white-bearded one. “I
would be a burden. Yet I would feel very sad if I had to stay.”

"Dedushka, Dedushka" Peter stroked Grandfather’s head. “It
is men like you we need. How will we manage without your wis-
dom and counsel ?”

The old one’s eyes brightened, his wizened face opening in a
smile.

Peter, the peasant philosopher, was one of a number who sought
God and land and spiritual and economic freedom. He — ^like men
of all times — ^and those who listened to him now, struggled for
happiness. His idea of the millennium had as its basis the idea that
men and women should recognize no authority other than their
own reason and intuition, “the inner voice.” By obeying the “voice
of the God within,” he believed men and women could live with
one another in harmony. “All men are equal in the sight of God,
and rulers are unnecessary,” he proclaimed.

An important fact was hidden from Peter, however. Little did
he and others, who thus addressed the peasants, realize that they
themselves were potential rulers in the face of their insistence
against rulership. Peter’s hearers, swayed by their desires and his
personality, memorized his wor^ of “freedom, no church, no
government.” Yet time was to prove them ready to accq)t religious
domination and economic direction; but it was to be more to their
liking than that of the Orthodox priest and landlord.

And so it was that potential Dukhobors turned to men like
Peter, not because they were prepared singly to think their way
through superstition, fear and dogma, to independence, but simply
because they felt that Peter, and men of his kind, were stronger
than themselves, yet of themselves. From him they sought the pro-
tection church and state had failed to give.

CHAPTER TWO

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

IT WAS IN 1654 that Archbishop Nikon — ^the ambitious
prelate who had risen from a peasant hut to the highest position
in the Russian Orthodox Church — ^introduced his “reformed”
prayer book. That book provoked religious controversy which re-
sulted in the Great Schism. And out of it came the Dukhobors,
with many other sects.

Of reform in the progressive sense. Archbishop Nikon had
neither idea nor intention. From visiting Greek clergy, he had been
pleased to learn of precedent which would allow him to make
alterations in Russian ritualism. His “reforms” consisted entirely
of revision of religious formalism.

The new prayer book, for instance, required that three fingers
be used to make the sign of the cross, instead of two as had been
the custom, and that one hallelujah should be used instead of two.
These and similar revisions were necessary, Nikon contended, be-
cause of errors which' had crept into churA usage. The shape the
cross should have, and how the name of Jesus should be spelled,
were other contentious matters which precipitated the initial con-
troversy. At first the people, unaware of clerical squabble, had no
part in it; but, later, many took advantage of it to openly disassoci-
ate themselves from the church. It is scarcely conceivable that all
priests were so superficial as to waste themselves in such futile
argument. It is more likely the issue with them was deeper. Those
priests who desired some liberalism, or who saw opportunity for
satisfying ambitions, were provided with a nominal excuse.

When the simmering dissent among the peasants finally boiled
over, the main body of dissenters, the “Old Believers” — ^who in-
sisted on using two fingers to cross themselves, instead of three
— became known as Raskolniki. Other dissidents saw safety in
numbers and joined the Raskolniki until such time as they could
feel sufficiently independent to proclaim their unorthodox views.
Among these were Dukhobors who secretly held a negative atti-
tude toward all priests and formalisms. As the split grew and
the dissenters increased. Archbishop Nikon, with the support of
the Tsar, pressed harder for the adoption of his prayer book, and

10

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

11

threatened the rebellious with dire consequences should they per-
sist in their “error.” The Council of the Church, in 16^67,
anathematized the dissenters : “Their souls in virtue of the power
given to the Church by Jesus Christ, to be given up to eternal
torments, together with the soul of the traitor Judas.” This sweep-
ing judgment gave the Raskolniki an opportunity for sarcastic
rebuttal, so dearly appreciated by the Russian sectarian. Profess-
ing “sorrow for all the patriarchs and tsars who once believed as
we do, and all the people of former generations who once believed
as we do, and who crossed themselves then just as we do now,”
the Raskolniki pointed out, “now you have cursed us, you have
also anathematized all your forefathers and all the holy men of
the past.”

The logic of this rejoinder was not calculated to placate the
archbishop, and persecution of the dissenters increased.

It was early in the reign of Peter the Great, under the regency
of Tsaritsa Sophia, that state and church combined for a relent-
less drive against sectarians whose numbers had grown to mil-
lions. Attention of the authorities was centered on the Raskolniki,
numerically the largest sect and closest to the Orthodox — anci
therefore the most dangerous from the standpoint of proselytism
— ^but all religious recalcitrants were to be “discouraged.” Raskol-
niki were flogged, imprisoned, tortured, or put to death by burn-
ing, unless they would deny their faith. This bloody policy served
to bring out the stubborn resistance of the Russian sectarian.
Raskolniki, in the act of being burned at the stake, strove to
show two fingers in the sign of their cross as a last testimony.
This symbol caused men and women to turn from the Orthodox
more readily than preaching would have done.

“Baptism by fire” followed in the wake of official burnings,
whenever dissenters saw that escape was hopeless. On such cxxa-
sions they gathered in wooden buildings and set fire to them.
These collective suicides were viewed by the participants as an
ordinance of Christ, a flaming vehicle which carried their souls
straight to heaven. Far into the reign of Peter the Great, the dis-
senters were hunted mercilessly by armed men dispatched to dis-
cover and destroy them; “every man, woman and child to be
apprehended in order that their abominable heresy may be ex-
terminated without chance of revival.”

Hunting sectarians to death was not the sole activity of state
and chur(±, nor was the entire population of Russia engaged in
hunting or being hunted. Space does not permit reference to less

12

SLAVA BOHU

spectacular events, yet a picture of the persecution and resistance
it engendered is necessary to get a glimpse of the harassed back-
groimd from which the Dukhobors emerged as an economic and
religious entity.

There was now no advantage for a dissenter who was not a
Raskolnik posing as one when the unfortunate “Old Believers”
were selected for extermination. Hence other sectarians disassoci-
ated themselves from the main schism and began secretly to test
their respective religious faiths. Men and women of Dukhobor
belief were scattered in small groups west of the Volga, their
leaders hoping a lapse in persecution might allow them to con-
verge in a large settlement removed from government centers.

Soon after Anne of Russia came to the throne in 1730, the tide
of state persecution turned away from dissenters to rage against
priests of the Russian Orthodox Church. A series of palace in-
trigues and an influx of non-Russian adventurers into court, put
Biron, Anne’s favorite and archadventurer, at the head of the
bureaucracy. He, who with Munnich and Osterman supported the
Lutheran Church, dealt severely with Russian Orthodox priests
who opposed him. While he stripped them of their office and had
them tortured, there was little encouragement for Orthodox clerics
to press the hunt for dissenters.

Among the many sects, which during Anne’s reign openly con-
solidated their beliefs and increased their following, were the
Dukhobors. Under these more felicitous conditions, two settle-
ments were formed in a frontier area: one in the province of
Tambov, near the village of Horelovka, and another in the prov-
ince of Haterinoslav near the village of Nikolsk. Fact seems to
point to slight organization of the Tambov settlement, while that
at Ekaterinoslav province was definitely organized.

Sylvan Kolesnikoff, the leader of the Ekaterinoslav colony, has
come^ down in legend as an exceptional man. The absence of his
mention in official sources during his lifetime, seems proof of his
diplomacy. His simple teachings included total negation of Ortho-
dox forms of worship. He recogmzed the guidance of the “voice
of God within.” With his tead^g he combined administrative
ability, and an aptitude for leadership, which kept his followers
out of trouble with the authorities, as well as at peace with the
people living in dose proximity.

Ili^on Pobirohin, leader of the Tambov settlement, was less
consistent It would seem that, combining arrogance with ambi-

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND 1 3

tion, he talked himself into prominence in the councils of the
Dukhobors there, and secured rulership.

The Dukhobor faith at this time expressed itself in a negative
attitude to outside authority. They believed external sacraments
were offensive to God, and that priests and ritual acted as a barrier
to actual communion between God and man. By removing the
Orthodox barriers, the Dukhobors believed men and women could
attain harmony with God. This harmony involved freedom from
all obligations to church and state.

Strife between the state and such a religious body was in-
evitable. During the reign of Anne, 1730-40, and the reign of
Elizabeth, 1741-62 — ^both being more interested in maintaining
their doubtful positions, than in the establishment of a strong
state — ^the Dukhobors, and other dissenters, were rarely molested.
This pseudo freedom was not the result of increasing religious
tolerance, but an evidence of instability in the state and church.

In the year 1762, Catherine (the Great) seized the throne of
Russia. In her case, “Mistress of the Russian Land,” had signifi-
cance, for her subjects found her a mistress capable of introduc-
ing order with a heavy hand. As state administration became cen-
tralized, the tentacles of control reached out, eventually enveloping
the Dukhobors.

Sylvan Kolesnikofif died in 1775, and the less astute Ilarion
Pobirohin assumed authority over both colonies. Pobirohin
ascribed to himself divine power and established a theocratic
communism. The material success or failure of this experiment is
not known. Pobirohin’s self-proclaimed divinity increased his ar-
rogance, and this, coupled with the growing efficiency of the Rus-
sian administration, led to his being exiled to Siberia, his family
and intimates accompanying him.

Pobirohin’s conflict had sad repercussions. The affairs and mode
of life of the colonies were investigated, resulting in the dispersal
of the sect by order of the government. Whole families were trans-
ported to distant parts of the empire; those liable for military
service were conscripted ; while some were .attached to the land,
thus becoming serfs, as thar ancestors had been.

With the banishment of Pobirohin, Saveli ICapustin secretly
took over the leadership. Hearsay ascribes to him the doubtful
honor of being Pobirohin’s son. Bom in 1743, he served the full
term of twenty-five years in the Russian army and came to the
Dukhobor leadership in the prime of his life in 1790.

14

SLAVA BOHU

The Dukhobors, exposed to the full glare of state ofScialdom,
continued to be harshly dealt with by local governors. Intimida-
tion, trumped-up charges, prison sentences and floggings at the
whim of officials, served to accentuate stubborn resistance innate
in the sectarians, who looked forward to the day when they would
re-establish themselves as a nation within a nation. In the mean-
time, they found superstitious and fatalistic solace in Pobirohin’s
prophecy: “There will come a time when you will suffer as Chris-
tian mart 3 nrs.”

After the assassination of the cruel Paul I, in 1801, his son,
Alexander I, became Tsar of all Russia. This Aeerful and liberal
young emperor — who, it is said, acquiesced in the death of his
madman father — ^introduced a general poli^ of lenience toward
sectarians which is reflected in Dukhobor history. Proclaiming to
the governors of provinces the futility of harsh persecution as a
remedy for “religious error,” Alexander approved of a plan
whereby Dukhobors — with the exception of those owned as serfs
— ^were granted permission to go to the Milky Waters area in the
province of Tauridia bordering the Black Sea. The province had
a climate which was later to make it a riviera. When the Duk-
hobors settled there, it was a frontier raided by Crimean Tartars.

When Saveli Kapustin moved his followers south to the Millqr
Waters, Dukhobors from distant parts congregated there under
his leadership. And again the aptitude of this people for agricul-
ture and hard work brought prosperity.

Kapustin, unlike Pobirohin, did not let a demonstration of
vanity threaten his rule or lead to trouble with the authorities. To
all outsiders he posed as an “equal with all other brothers and
sisters who sometimes choose me for their spokesman.” Through
his twelve apostles and thirty elders, he transacted the business of
the sect, taking care to pay all government taxes promptly.

“We are all equal,” this theocrat told outsiders. “We have no
leader, and none among us is greater than the other.” This phrase
was so impressed upon Dukhobor children that they rarely failed
to give the prescribed answer when asked, “Who is your leader ?”
By means of set answers, Kapustin perfected a system of evasion,
which led outsiders to believe that the affairs of the sect were
democratically manned. When asked who was responsible for
this or that decision, the Dukhobor promptly answered: “No one
man among us decided, we all decided together.” The ruler dis-
couraged his followers from associating with outsiders. When,
however, they came in contact with Russian officials, they were to

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND 1 5

be respectful, lift their hats and bow, and reply to all questions
with the answers they had committed to memory.

To cloak his administrative offices more effectively, Kapustin
instituted the “Orphans’ Home”, founded ostensibly to care for
orphans, widows and aged. Such an institution was unnecessary
because the Dukhobors living in patriarchal households, often-
times presided over by a great-grandfather, were in the habit of
seeing to the security of everyone beneath the family roof. Thus
the Orphans’ Home was virtually a seat of government and a
treasury. Within its spacious wooden walls, virgins were trained
to sing the psalms handed down from generation to generation,
the words of this “Living Book” being memorized and never put
into writing.

Thus grew and solidified the early Dukhobor colonies and faith.
Thus persisted the Dukhobor teachings, some phases of which had
curious repercussions. For example, Dukhobors conscripted into
the imperial army threw away their guns during the Russian-
Turkish war of 1806-12. The few Russian troops engaged in this
conflict were withdrawn when Napoleon marched on Moscow.
Subsequently, when the Dukhobors heard that Moscow had been
burned, and that almost all the French soldiers had died on the
way back to France, they considered these tragedies as Grod’s pun-
ishment for believing in war.

The authorities in St. Petersburg looked with favor on the in-
dustrious settlement of the Milky Waters, which had brought a
degree of agricultural development greater than any before known
to the Romanov dynasty. But as the word of the Dukhobors’
prosperity spread to other parts of Russia, and more peasants
petitioned their local governors to be allowed to join the colony,
it seemed to the authorities that the Dukhobors persuaded men
to abandon the Orthodox church.

Lenient as Alexander I was in the early years of his reign, he
did not favor prosel)dizing. It is unlikely tiliat the Dukhobors were
proselytizing at this stage ; they were too self-contained, suspicious
of outsiders and prosperous to interest themselves in converts.
However, several men were arrested on charges of perverting the
Orthodox. After being questioned in prison, they were released
because the evidence was not sufficient to convict them. The church
then lent a hand to the state and, in February of 1816, Father
Nalimski was sent into the settlement with instructions to ques-
tion the people carefully. On the evening of his arrival he got
drunk and clullenged some heretics to a fight. For this untimely

16

SLAVA BOHU

behavior, he was sentenced to four months imprisonment in a
monastery.

The local officials of church and state were not satisfied that the
Dukhobors were guiltless of seeking converts. That summer,
Kapustin was arrested. Although he was seventy-five years of age
and in ill health, he was imprisoned and subjected to prolonged
questioning. “Whom have I perverted?” he asked repeatedly. And
Ae authorities could produce no satisfactoiy witness. When the
Dukhobors sent a delegation to Langeron, military governor of
Kherson, requesting him to intervene on behalf of Kapustin,
Langeron — so the delegates said — shouted: “You know neither
God nor emperor ; were I emperor, I would shoot you down with
cannon and muskets.”

Langeron’s reputed attitude was not condoned by the Tsar,
and the governor was informed from St. Petersburg: “His
Imperial Majesty considers the measures such as you would take,
would not reform the Dukhobors, but only further incense them.”

Langeron, indignant with the Dukhobors for reporting him,
denied he had said he would like to “shoot them down with can-
nons and muskets.” The Dukhobors, he wrote to the Tsar, were
people who had no religion whatsoever, “having neither churches
nor priests, nor admitting the sacraments.” He asked that he be
allowed to obtain satisfaction from the Dukhobors for their false
accusation, but Alexander I dismissed the squabble with, “In ac-
cordance with the rules of the Qiristian religion, one must for-
give one’s neighbor every injury.” Moreover, Alexander’s min-
ister of the interior, Kozodoeff, a member of the St. Petersburg
Bible Society, had sympathy for sectarians, which furthered Alex-
ander’s lenient attitude.

Kapustin was released on bond. Subsequently, the Dukhobors
said, he died and was buried near the village of Horelovka,
November 8, 1817. Local Russian authorities, suspicious of this
story, had the alleged body of Kapustin unearthed and found it
red-bearded and with mustaches. Despite the fact that Kapustin’s
hair was not red, nor was he in the habit of wearing mustaches,
the Dukhobors stuck to their story. Undoubtedly Kapustin in-
vented his own death as the most satisfactory way of avoiding
further trouble. He lived on, a hermit in a cave, grew a long white
beard, altered his posture to a stoop, and continued to direct the
affairs of the sect through apostles who visited him.

At this time the Dukhobors were recognized by the tsarist gov-
ernment, as on equal basis with the Mennonites, a Quakerish

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

17

German sect whose members had been in-vited to Russia and guar-
anteed religious freedom because of their proven agricultural
ability. Not far from the Dukhobor and Mennonite settlements,
was a settlement of Molokans, Russian sectarians with views
somewhat similar to the Dukhobors. Each group considered itself
superior to the other, and, as the Mennonites continued to speak
German, there was little intercourse between them. St. Petersburg,
anxious to encourage efficiency in agriculture, was tolerant of
sectarians capable of tilling the soil well and raising livestock.
Thus the Dukhobors, Molokans, and Mennonites enjoyed a
favored position of semi-independence as compared with that of
other peasants in Russia.

Foreign opinion of the Dukhobors of this period is therefore
of interest. When Alexander I was in England in 1814, he con-
versed with several Quakers who were curious about Dukhobor
religious fervor and who inquired about the welfare of the Duk-
hobor, Molokan, and Mennonite colonies. The Tsar gladly invited
the Quakers to Russia to judge for themselves. The invitation was
accepted, but it was not until May of 1819, that two Quakers,
William Allen and Stephen Grellet, arrived at the Milky Waters.
Immediately these gentlemen became distressed at the failure of
the Dukhobors to give Quaker answers to all their questions. The
disappointment of William Allen is somberly reflected in his diary :
“29th of Fifth Month . . . There was a studied evasion in their
answers, and though they readily quoted texts, it is plain they do
not acknowledge the authority of the Scripture, and they have
some very erroneous notions . . . My spirit was greatly affected,
and I came away from them much depressed.”

Orest Novitski, who made a careful study of the Dukhobors
and wrote a lengthy thesis on them, was a supporter of the Rus-
sian Orthodox Church, and consequently he did not condone the
unorthodox opinions. It is of interest, therefore, when Novitski
says : “To the credit of the Dukhobors, one must say that thqr are
sober, laborious and frugal; that in their houses and clothing they
are careful to be clean and tidy; that they are attentive to their
agriculture and cattle-breeding, occupations which have been and
still are their chief employment.”

Novitski refers to their antipathy to military service and the
taking of oaths. In 1820, to remove one of the obstacles and en-
courage them to become soldiers of the Tsar, the coundl of state
decreed, “without releasing them from any other State obligation,
to abstain from compelling than to take the oath in any form

18

SLAVA BOHU

whatsoever.” Novitski noted that this was “Imperially confirmed
forever,” Forever is too long to be covered by the blahket promise
of a government.

Saveli Kapustin had left no stone unturned to assure the leader-
ship to his son. An ex-soldier himself, his male children were
liable to military service, and to avoid this, Kapustin sent his wife
to her people before the birth of the child, thus outwardly repudiat-
ing his fatherhood. This child was brought up by his mother’s
family and was known by their name of Kalmikoff. To be more
certain of the leadership passing to his son, Kapustin had assured
his followers the spirit of Christ would dwell among them after
his death. He intimated that the Holy Spirit would establish itself
in his son.

At the death of his father, Vasili Kalmikoff accepted the office
of ruler, but he lacked the organizing ability of his parent. He be-
came a drunkard, paid little attention to Dukhobor affairs, and
allowed the twelve apostles and thirty elders full sway.

When Vasili Kalmikoff died in 1832, at about forty years of
age, his son, Illarion Kalmikoff, then sixteen, nominally inherited
the rulership. Illarion, like his father, was dissipated, with the re-
sult that the apostles and elders continued to rule. When the “God
man” takes to drunkeness anything may happen. Even when such
a divinity explains that, for some inexplicable reason, God has
ordered him to behave like a sot but that it is unnecessary for the
apostles, elders and people to follow his example, confusion must
inevitably result.

About this time dark rumors began to seep out from the colony.
The Orphans’ Home, outsiders heard, had become a place wherein
apostles and elders gave themselves up to orgies of feasting,
drinking, and lasciviousness; the singing virgins continued to
sing, but now were virgins in name only. While the Dukhobors
accepted these as necessary parts of God’s plan, a few were bold
enough to question the scheme of things, whispering of their
wavering faith to Molokans, Mennonites, and others beyond the
Dukhobor oligarchy. Skeptics unfortunate enough to be discov-
ered, were subjected to torture and threatened with dea& at the
hands of those who constituted themselves an inquisitorial tri-
bunal. Tales of intrigue were followed by persistent accounts of
death meted out to all who were found guilty of breach of secrecy,
or who had failed in obedience to the ruling faction. In 1834, Tsar
Nikolai I approved of an investigation which, official records state,
revealed murder approaching a wholesale scale. Mutilated and de-

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

19

capitated corpses were unearthed, while the condition of some
bodies showed they had been buried alive. The judicial inquiry
disclosed twenty-one murders, “in spite of all obstinacy and
capacity to conceal secret crimes.”

Admitting the prejudice of tsardom which ebbed and flowed
against sectarians, it is unlikely that an offlcial inquiry which
lasted two years would be an utter fabrication.

Baron A. von Haxthausen, who published a detailed treatise
on Prussian land tenure, was invited to Russia by Nikolai I in
1843 to make a similar survey. While in Southern Russia, he lived
in the German-speaking Mennonite colony near that of the Duk-
hobors. From the Mennonites he learned of intimidation, torture
and death within the Dukhobor sect; the gist of his account is
similar to Russian governmental reports, though the two accounts
do not always agree in detail. It would seem that Haxthausen's
informers let their imaginations out of control when they told the
Baron that four hundred people were murdered out of a popula-
tion of some 4,000. In his book, Studien uber die inneren
Zustandee, das Volkleben, und insbesondere die landlichen Ein~
richtungen Russlands, he wrote : “The Council of Elders now con-
stituted itself a terrible inquisitional tribunal. The principle of
‘Whoso denies his God shall perish by the sword,’ was interpreted
according to their caprice; the House of Justice was called ‘Para-
dise and Torture’ ; the place of execution was at the mouth of the
River Milky Waters. A mere suspicion of treachery was punished
with torture and death. Within a few years some four hundred
people disappeared, leaving scarcely a trace behind . .

As a result of the Russian governmental inquiry, Nikolai I
banished the Dukhobors to the Wet Mountains of Caucasia. Only
those who would join the Russian Orthodox Church were allowed
to remain.

Aylmer Maude, an Englishman who years later lived in Russia;
and made a study of the Dukhobors, wrote in his book, A Peculiar
People: “The most seriously implicated together with their
families, in all 800 individuals, were moved in 1841 to Caucasia;
Illarion Kalmikoff with his family being of the number. In 1842,
800 more were transported, and 1843 another 900. In all, more
than 4,000 people went from the Milky Waters to Caucasia. At
first only twenty-seven preferred to remain in their former
homes.” . . .

Caucasia was a frontier, as little governed as the Indian Terri-
tory of the United States, before it became the State of Oklahoma.

20

SLAVA BOHU

Bordered by Turkey and Persia on the south, the Black and
Caspian Seas on the west and east, the rugged Caucasian Moun-
tains to the north rose as a barrier between Caucasia and Russia
proper. The fertile soil, abundant moisture and bright sunshine of
the rolling lowlands, made growth of fruits, vegetables and grain
feasible, but the roving population did not seriously concern them-
selves with agriculture. Turks, Tartars, Kurds, Armenians, Per-
sians and Georgians scratched the soil for a living, at times graz-
ing their own herds of sheq), at times raiding the flocks of their
neighbors. Nearly eveiy man carried a pistol or musket, or at least
armed himself with knife or scimitar.

While the Russian government ruled in the government towns,
scant attention was paid to tribal warrings in the outlands, as long
as these everyday occurrences did not affect officials. In some sec-
tions, feudal princes of various races held sway as landed pro-
prietors, exacting tithes ; in turn paying tribute to the government,
and making little effort to improve agricultural methods.

Caucasia was already a place of exile. Individuals and small
groups of Russians, who refused to conform to the Orthodox
faith had been sent there. Cossacks who had turned pacifist were
banished there in 1826. On February sixth of that year, a govern-
ment committee, meeting in St. Petersburg, concluded that ; “The
utility of this measure is evident; being transported to the extreme
borders of Caucasia, and being always confronted by the hillsmen,
they must of necessity protect their property and families by force
of arms.”

When the Dukhobors were first banished to Caucasia, they were
restricted to the Wet Mountains, a rocky and treeless range of the
Caucasian mountains. The soil of the valleys produced natural hay
in quantities, but early frosts precluded the growing of grains,
other than barley. Once more, the Dukhobors were left to them-
selves ; the struggle for existence temporarily submerged religious
extremism, and again they showed their aptitude for agricultural
pioneering.

Illarion Kalmikoff did not long survive the exodus to the Wet
Mountains, and the “Holy Spirit” entered his son, i*eter Kal-
mikoff, who assumed the office of “Christ” and ruler.

This brings the historical background of the Dukhobors to
about 1850, or almost within oral memory.

CHAPTER THREE

CAUCASIA

FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER the forced exodus from the
Milky Waters, the two colonies in Caucasia showed a peasant
prosperity which was an object of wonder to Turks, Tartars, and
other nomadic tribesmen unaccustomed to such agricultural per-
sistence. In those few years the Dukhobors had plowed many acres
of grassland, had built sturdy villages, and had raised herds of
sheep, cattle and horses.

As the number of exiles had increased, two settlements had
formed. In the first and largest, among the treeless valleys of the
Wet Mountains, stock raising far exceeded the planting of grain.
In the second, about two hundred miles to the southeast in Elize-
vetpolsk province — ^where, early in the exodus, settlement had been
forbidden by the government — grain crops, vegetables, fruits and
dairying predominated.

In the village of Horelovka, high in the Wet Mountains, was
the Dukhobor seat of government. Here the sectarians built an
Orphans’ Home. These managerial buildings, housing Peter
Kalmikoff and his wife, were the only wooden structures of the
village, for logs were scarce, the nearest accessible forest being
more than a hundred miles distant. The other buildings in Hore-
lovka — ^as in all villages of the Wet Mountains — ^were built of
earth and rock, their sloping sod roofs gay with grass and flowers
in summer, and white with snow in winter.

Peter Kalmikoff enjoyed the privileges of the hereditary office
of “Christ” in full. It excused him from having to work with his
hands and left him free to hunt game and drink vodka. With his
gun slung on his saddle, Peter roamed the country, stopping over-
night at tihis village or that, or camping in the hills with his favor-
ites of the moment. In his early twenties, wiry but not tall, hot-
tempered and cynical, he far from t3^ified his followers.

His roving eyes beheld the charm of Lukeria Vasilivna Huba-
nova, considered the most beautiful girl of both colonies. His
choice of her as consort was widely approved. Although only six-
teen when she married Peter, Lukeria showed an independence and
strength of character unusual in one so young. When he failed to

21

22

SLAVA BOHU

dominate her and resorted to beating to assert his will as husband,
he encountered a resistance which he was unable to overcome. She
made plain to him that, while he might be divine in the eyes of his
followers, he was not to her; and for this he secretly respected her.

Peter Kalmikofi’s divine office allowed him to indulge his
tempestuous sense of humor. On one occasion he was about to ride
into the village of Slavanka, largest of the Elizevetpolsk settle-
ment, to honor the people with his presence. Word of his coming
spread rapidly. In one of the best houses a long table was laid with
choice mutton and bowls of finest borsch. Men, women and chil-
dren assembled to welcome him. Down the dusty main street he
came on a fine horse, attended by village elders. His lean, gray,
half-wolf hunting dogs surrounded him, their malevolent eyes
glaring and their noses sniffing the kitchen smells of the open
doorways.

He dismounted in front of the limewashed house wherein the
great meal was prepared, returned the greeting of his subjects
with a bow, and, "Sdorovo, good health.”

The elders stood devoutly around the table, waiting for him to
tell them where to sit. Instead of speaking, he seated himself and
helped himself to mutton.

“Please, Peter, would you tell us where we should sit?” asked
an elder apprdiensively.

“Robbers!” shouted Peter. “Is that all you can think about? A
place to sit? Such as you will not sit with me. I would sooner have
my dogs. Bring my dogs here, and get out of my sight, you snakes,
I never want to see you again.”

Downcast at this outburst but receiving it with a fatalism
similar to that of a farmer acc^ting a hailstorm, the dignitaries
shufiied away. The people heard, and the news spread along the
street.

“What are you doing to me?” shouted Peter after them.
“Would you leave me alone, you Turks ? Is this the way you treat
me ? Come here at once, I tell you.”

Two men re-entered the room, their red faces showing thankful-
ness and trepidation.

“What are you doing standing there?” Peter demanded. “Did I
not tell you to bring my dogs ? Get them, or you will have some-
thing to be sorry for !”

Some of the dogs lay panting in the village street; others were
foraging or fighting with the local hounds. The elders tried coax-

CAUCASIA 23

ing, then driving them, but the animals curled their lips and moved
out of reach.

“See that!” shouted Peter from the doorway, a chop in one
hand and a glass of tea in the other. “My dogs will have nothing
to do with you. Are you not ashamed of yourselves?”

“Come here, hounds,” he called, and several came slinking
toward him. “Here! Here! I know you are hungry. Come and sit
with me.”

He walked to his place, the dogs following cautiously. They
needed no invitation. Qimbing first to the benches, then jumping
onto the table, they wolfed the mutton and vegetables set for thirty
men. The table top and its hand-worked linen cover swam in soup.
Bowls and wooden spoons clattered to the floor, while Peter
lUarionivich Kalmikoff laughed uproariously at the devastation.

Besides satisfying a destructive urge, episodes such as these
substituted for a bookkeeping system. If an elder had been with-
holding funds from the central treasury, Peter’s accusation caused
money to emerge from its hiding place. The conscience-stricken
elder would think, “My, my, Peter knows I’m guilty. Pravda, he
knows everything.” Moreover, outbursts like this kept the popu-
lace in awe, a necessary attitude to ensure continuance of the
theocracy.

In the fall of 1864, while hunting in the Wet Mountains near
the village of Efremovka, Peter was stricken with a stomach
malady, which became aggravated by a severe cold. His hunting
mates took him to Alex Makaseyff’s rock house in Efremovka and
sent Vanusha Kanigan on horseback to Horelovka. Lukeria’s gray
eyes showed little surprise when Vanusha announced, “Poor Peter
is very ill.”

With her brother Mikhael Hubanoff, Alex Zubkoff, Ivan
Baturin, and several others of importance, she rode to Efremovka.
Groups of people, unmindful of the rain, stood in front of the
house wherein their ruler lay. Several men came forward, lifted
their hats, bowed, and took the horses. In the best room of the
house, sunk in a feather mattress of the high wooden bed, Peter
lUarionivich Kalmikoff shivered beneath his woollen blankets. He
looked aged beyond his twenty-eight years and showed little inter-
est in his visitors.

For three da}^ his groaning and fever continued. And as news
of his illness spread, an increasing number of people came to the
little viUage. The continuous sighing of the faithful, the occasional

24

SLAVA BOHU

howling of a dog, and Peter’s own incx)herent mutterings were
the prelude to his end.

“It will be terrible,” said Zubkoff, “if he is not able to name our
new leader.”

“Da, how shall we then decide?” Hubanoff shrugged.

Both these executives felt capable of assuming Ihe position.

“Peter is dying,” said Mikhael Hubanoff, feeling guilty over his
secret aspirations. “And you, Lukeria,” he added, turning to his
sister, “you have not yet shed one tear. How can you be so hard-
hearted? The other women are soriy, and you his wife . . .”

“When you see me weep,” Lukeria answered, “it will be because
my brother is two-faced.”

Mikhael was silent. Zubkoff looked at his feet, fearing to show
his approval, lest he be similarly rebuked. No one said an3dhing.
Near the door two women sobbed audibly.

“Who put me into this bed? Do you wish to kill me?” shouted
Peter to the amazement of everyone.

“Oh ! Oh! Slava Bohu. Praise God, he is getting better,” said a
woman.

But Peter groaned, muttered and went off into another
delirium.

That evening when the ruler’s mind cleared, Alex Zubkoff,
kneeling beside his bed, asked, “Dear Petushka, tell us in whose
charge will you leave us?”

“I leave you to her.” Peter pointed a shaking finger at Lukeria.
“She will be a better ruler than I have been, you fools. She is the
only one among you I am sorry to leave.”

Next morning, after messengers on horseback had been dis-
patched to apprise the Elizevetyolsk settlement of Peter’s death
and Lukeria’s ascent to rulership, Lukeria herself rode back
along the wagon road to Horelovka. She had not desired the
rulership, but she felt it would not be difficult to be a better
ruler thiaai any of the Kalmikoffs had been; possibly the best
thing she could do would be to help the people rdy more on them-
selves, instead of expecting the impossible from a “Holy Spirit.”
She liked the people and they liked her.

Lukeria had abtmdant vitality and a practical turn of mind.
Above average height, blade-haired, gray-eyed, complexion like
a rose, she had retained most of tiie beauty of sixteen while gain-
ing poise of womanhood. Her sense of humor, and of values
generally, would not allow her to become a “divinity.” What she
most desired was love, the ^iritual and physical union, which

CAUCASIA 25

she had not found with her husband. Her attempt later to satisfy
this yearning was to be the major incongruity of her rulership.

As she rode toward Horelovka, the sun broke through the
clouds for the first time in several days ; it shone down, and licked
at shallow pools lying in the blue-clay road. Moving southward up
the valley, through a mist still clinging to the low levels, was a
ghostlike herd of cattle. Herdsmen swung now to the right, now
to the left, their rainproof woollen bourkas flowing back over
the horses’ rumps as if woven of the mist itself. Behind her, the
hay and pasture lands stretched eight treeless miles, and rose
gradually to the base of the first mountain range obscured now
by the valley mists merging with low-hung clouds. A horse and
rider came out of Efremovka at a gallop. Lukeria watched him
momentarily, wondering who was in such a hurry ; then she looked
toward Horelovka again. Surrounding the village were the plowed
acres from which the barley had been harvested, and, closer in, the
cabbage plots looked bare and still as if waiting for the snow of
winter. Behind her someone shouted, and she turned to see
Mikhael galloping toward her.

“Why did you leave without telling me you were going?” he
asked breathlessly and so seriously that she laughed. “It is not a
joke,” he protested. “It is not right that you should ride alone
when you are my sister, and the leader of us all.”

“Mikhael, Mikhael, you look so funny that anyone would laugh !
I will need you to look after the business with Alex Zubkoff and
Ivan Baturin because you can read and write, and you are not
altogether a fool. Yet I want you — ” her voice hardened — ^“to
remember that you must never tell me what to do or what not
to do. There are things I will decide for myself.”

The following summer, Lukeria made her first official visit to
the Elizevetpolsk settlement. Her departure was a holiday for the
Wet Mountains settlement, who escorted her along the wagon
road past Efremovka and Orlovka to the gray cliffs at the base
of the first mountain range. There, amidst many good wishes and
slava Bohus, they watched her covered wagon with its four horses
hitched abreast, and her twenty mounted outriders wind their
way into the pass. Not once throughout the two hundred-mile
journey was the caravan molested. Not once did the proud guards
on their fine horses have to draw their scimitars or pistols.

In Elizevetpolsk settlement there was much preparation and
excitement. Early on the day she was to arrive, men, women and
children left llieir villages by horseback or wagon to assemble in

26

SLAVA BOHU

a meadow eight miles north of the village of Slavanka. Elizevet-
polsk’s honorary escort of twenty armed riders, rode thirty miles,
to meet her kareta.

On the flower-dotted meadow, where the assemblage waited
singing hjmins of welcome, even the horses tied to the wagon
wheels felt excitement in the sutmy air. A thousand men and
women in holiday clothes formed the human v at the base of which
stood the traditional table covered with a white cloth, and set
with a loaf of bread, jar of salt, and jug of water. These three
staples, sufficient to sustain human life, symbolized hospitality
in accord with old Russian custom.

The measured voices blended, and as from reeds of a vast
human organ the melody of a psalm floated toward Lukeria. Even
after her driver had dexterously backed her wagon close to the
ceremonial table, the people continued singing until the psalm was
ended. As the last notes drifted away, faces turned expectantly
toward her as she bowed her greeting.

“Sdorovo jevote. I hope you are in good health.”

“Slava Bohu,” they answered, bowing.

“Everyone happy?” she smiled.

“Spasi Hospodi. Lord save you. Greeting you on your auspi-
cious coming, we welcome you to us.”

Lukeria gave greetings and messages from the people of the
Wet Mountains. Everything was very good there. The winter’s
snow had been deep but the weather was not too cold. Hay was
plentiful, the sheep were not much bothered by wolves.

“For many years our people have lived where trees grew, and
it is nice to see the trees here. By Horelovka we have only those
we planted. Again this spring, our men went many miles with
horses and wagons to bring back young trees to plant. They put
some near my house, for which I am grateful. Those trees may
seed themselves so that one day there will be a forest so large
that our people will have to be careful not to get lost in it,” she
said, with ^es laughing.

Her smile was r^ected in the faces of even the very small chil-
dren; already everyone thought of her as “Lushetchka,” an affec-
tionate derivative of Lukeria.

“Lushetchka,” interrupted a stout old lady, with hands clasped
in front of her green apron, “tell us why trees grow not in the
valley of Horelovka where there is much rain?”

“They grow well when we plant them, idbushka, but they were
not there when we came; why, I do not know, except that a gov-

CAUCASIA

27

eminent man from Tiflis told me that, very long ago, before there
were any tsars in Russia, there were many trees in the Wet Moun-
tains, but the people did not stop cutting them until even the little
ones were burned for firewood, and there were no seeds left.”

“Tak. I think that was very bad,” commented a woman with a
florid face and a nose like a button. “It would be like eating all
the chickens so there would be no eggs, and soon no chickens.”

At this analogy two young women in crimson skirts and blue
velvet bodices laughed in high spirits. Like the sun and the breeze
on the flowers of the meadow, and Lushetchka’s warm smile, their
merriment was infectious, and others joined in the laughter as
if they had been awaiting such an opportunity.

Grandfather Popoff’s shoulders shook with happiness. It welled
up and filled his blue eyes with tears. “Slava Bohu! Lushetdika!
he said “I bow low to the God within you and hope you will live
long with us in the Spirit of Christ.” The old man knelt and
touched his forehead to the grass.

“Slava Bohu,” echoed another patriarch, kneeling beside Grand-
father Popoff.

Then, as if an unseen hand had pressed down on their heads,
the assemblage of 2,000 men and women bowed low.

These semioriental prostrations made Lukeria uneasy, yet she
was at loss for words to e3q)ress her disapproval and yet not hurt
their feelings.

They rose as one, with the ponderous precision of a trained
elephant.

“I am only a woman,” Lukeria reminded them, “so do not ex-
pect too much of me. We must all work together to increase our
prosperity, and we must live at peace with ourselves and every-
one.”

She left her wagon, signif 3 dng the end of the formal meeting,
and talked with the people who pressed close around her. After
all had joined in a happy hymn, there was more conversation and
the men went to hit^ the horses.

Lukeria climbed into her own wagon where her maids were
seated. Her driver cracked his whip; the Verigin wagon swung
in behind, followed by the Katelnikoff wagon, after which came
more than one hundred vehicles. Young men on saddle horses
spread out to each side of the mounted escort and the procession
moved along the rolling, wooded country to Slavanka.

Though Ae Dukhobors continued to say, “We are all equal and
none among us is greater than another,” social precedence to the

28

SLAVA BOHU

Verigin and Katelnikoif families was conceded in Elizevetpolsk.
The two families were the wealthiest of the settlement. They
owned between them several thousand horses, cattle and sheep;
and employed — ^besides Turkish herdsmen — ^Dukhobors who had
either no establishments, or such small ones that it was necessary
for them to hire out their labor. This material inequality began
in the Milky Waters when communal ownership was abandoned.
In Slavanka, the Verigins owned the one large store, while the
Katelnikoffs owned the flour mills.

The Verigins were related to Lukeria Kalmikova by marriage.
Anastasia Verigina was an aunt of Peter Kalmikoff. Lukeria,
who, when visiting Slavanka, slept in the best room of the Veri-
gin’s oak log house, affectionately called Anastasia, “Natusha.”
Lukeria also liked Vasili Verigin and all the children. But it was
young Peter Vasilivich Verigin who particularly charmed her.
He was seven now, and this was the first time she had seen him
since he was four. Tall for his age, well proportioned, he had gray
eyes with a Tartar slant, black hair, and an intelligent face.

Each morning, Peter, with his younger brother Gregori, went
to Lukeria’s room. Standing side by side, they recited childrens’
psalms. “What intelligent boys,’’ she would say, giving them
sweets and nuts, after which Peter and Gregori knelt, bowed, and
left the room with a mixed feeling of excitement and solemnity.

Peter glowed with self-esteem when she praised him. To him,
Lukeria was the greatest person in the world, for besides being
ruler of the Duldiobors, she fascinated him. He felt himself
greater than the other boys in the village, and Lukeria’s open
adoration confirmed his opinion. Meditating on it, he decided that
he had been bom on Peter’s Day for some particular reason. The
annual Dukhobor religious celebration of June 29 — ^his birthday
— was more than a coincidence to him.

Much of Lukeria’s time in Slavanka was taken up with giving
advice. For instance, Andrei was a poor man, and his milk cow
had died, so what should he do?

“Go home Andrei, you shall have a cow and a good one too,
but you must try to drink less vodka; a man of your age should
know better,” Lukeria advised.

Andrei blushed until his cheeks became the color of his nose.
"Spadbo, spasibo, thank you, thank you,” he said, twisting the
leather peak of his cap, bowing and backing toward the door.
“Slava Bohu. May the Almighty God keep you safely.”

Lukeria’s ability to remember fragmentary information about

CAUCASIA

29

her subjects, supplemented by her intuition, made further in-
vestigation than this unnecessary. To procure a cow for Andrei,
she commended a wealthier Dukhobor for his “Christian way of
life,” mentioning that, “poor Andrei has no milk cow. Da, it is a
pity he drinks too much, but perhaps we can help him by show-
ing our brotherly love.”

The wealthy Dukhobor presented a cow to Andrei, feeling him-
self well repaid by Lukeria’s approbation. Andrei’s allegiance to
Lukeria saved him from getting drunk during the entire month.

“Lushetchka, dear Lushetchka, I am so very worried and have
for a long time been thinking to myself about what I did,” began
a muzhik. After assuring Lukeria he believed in “never killing
anyone,” he related how one night he and his wife heard a loud
noise coming from their vegetable storehouse. Rousing his sons,
and four other men, he cautiously opened the door leading from
the house to the storeroom, but they found no one. Then they
opened the door to the horse stable, then to the cow stable. From
the cow stable they went into the sheep shed and saw the sheep
in a state of agitation; the door leading to the 3^rd was open.
They heard a scraping of horses’ hoofs and muffled cursing in
Turkish.

“I ran to the door,” he related, “and saw two men on horses, each
with something big tied to his saddle. Tostoi, wait,’ I shouted, but
they were already leaving my yard. I lifted my rifle and fired once.
One man fell and the other galloped away. When the watchman
came I said to him, ‘What have you been doing? Sleeping?’ We all
went carefully up to the bundle lying on the ground. He was
dead, and he was a Turk, and wrapped around his wrist was a
rope which was tied to a sack. We opened the sack and inside,
just as I thought, was a stunned sheep. Oh, Lushetchka, Lu-
shetchka, I have often thought — Was it right for me to kill him?”
he asked, wringing his hands.

“If he was married,” said Lukeria, “and if his wife liked him,
it might have been very sad when he did not come home, and that
time she would be sorry he was stealing sheep. I know how badly
you feel that you killed him. Possibly you did not have enough
watchmen? It is always better to hit a robber over the head with
a long root than it is to kill him. Tak. But it has happened and
you must not feel badly.”

His face brightened; he thanked Lukeria many times, and went
away feeling as cheerful as a conscience-stricken Dukhobor could.

Quite differently did she deal with the complaints of a wife

30

SLAVA BOHU

whose husband had beaten her. Her sentence was to order the
husband to stay naked in a lousy chicken house overnight, and
sometimes more than one night. There, among the hens blinking
suspiciously at him, he felt as if their uneasy croakings were
accusing him. With his toes in the cold slime of the floor, his head
itching, the lice gnawing avariciously at his hide, he scratched
repentantly through the night. At dawn he had the additional
humiliation of having village wives stare at him icily as he emerged
from the henhouse.

A man had the choice of taking his punishment or leaving the
sect. In a case of being sentenced for wife beating, it is unlikely
that his wife and family would leave with him, while a man with
neither wife, family nor tribe, was far from being an economic
unit in those days. Disregarding the inconvenience of having to
do everything for himself — ^including the making of his own boots
and clothing — ^he would be exposed to marauding horsemen. Thus
an individual leaving the Dukhobors would be forced to join
another sect, or one of the roving tribes, or enter the service of a
landlord, or enlist in the imperial army. So it is understandable
why “good men and bad’' preferred to remain within the fold,
and how economic necessity played an important part in the
gregariousness of the Dukhobors.

When Lukeria left Slavanka to return to her seat of govern-
ment, Peter Vasili vich Verigin and his mother rode with her to
the outskirts of the village.

“Natusha,” Lukeria whispered to Peter’s mother, “treat him
very kindly, for remember what you have promised. He belongs
to me. There will come a time when I will take him away with
me to the Wet Mountains. He will be needed for God’s work,
but all this you must keep secret now. Slava Bohu !”

CHAPTER FOUR

LUKERIA

THIRTEEN YEARS went by under the rule of Lukeria
Vasilivna Kalmikova; thirteen years of increasing prosperity,
with a minimum of trouble, and no conflict with the Russian gov-
ernment. This fortunate position was, in 1877, due, in part to the
tolerance of the Grand Duke Mikhael Nikolaivich Romanov,
governor of Caucasia, and his friendliness toward Lukeria. The
occasions on which the Grand Duke Mikhael had visited Hore-
lovka, Lukeria, diplomat that she was, missed no opportunity to
further the relations between her followers and the imperial gov-
emmment.

Mikhael, thoughtful and quiet-maimered, preferred to get along
with people rather than quarrel, and there were other considera-
tions. He found Lukeria’s personality pleasing, and her hospitality
in the Wet Mountains a refreshing change from officials, and
semioriental Tiflis. The agricultural development of the Dukho-
bors was most acceptable, for his brother, Alexander II, was pre-
paring for war against Turkey, with a view to “freeing the Chris-
tians in the Balkans from Turkish yoke, and extending the Rus-
sian Empire south to Constantinople.” The Dukhobors, now num-
bering about 12,000, had made available increased food supply for
the army. Their saddle horses, larger than Cossack ponies, were
being purchased for the cavalry, while their heavier horses were
excellent for artillery and transport. In this frontier area of 1877,
railway communication was limited; the rugged Caucasian Moun-
tains formed a natural barrier between Caucasia and Russia
proper, while Ottoman naval predominance on the Black Sea en-
hzinced the value of a ready supply of primary necessities in the
probable war zone.

The Dukhobors, pleased to profit by the sale of their produce
to the imperial government, were equdly pleased at their exemp-
tion from army service. Though military conscription had been
introduced into Caucasia by an act of 1874, the Dukhobors —
officially a penal settlement under the terms of their exile — re-
mained exempt. Their practical relationship to the imperial gov-
ernment was peculiarly favorable, as they enjoyed privileges

31

32

SLAVA BOHU

similar to those of landlords, without being required to do battle
“For Faith, for Tsar, and for Fatherland” ; nor were they heavily
taxed.

The business of the sect was being efficiently managed by Alex
Zubkoff, Mikhael Hubanoff, and other executives of the Orphans’
Home. Favorable circumstances, the suitable climate of the Wet
Mountains for stock raising, the warm soil of Elizevelpolsk for
grains, vegetables and fruits, combined with hard work and thrift
to produce a prosperity among them greater than any before or
after.

In the spring of 1877, Russia declared war on Turkey. Those
were the romantic da37s when nations had reached the stage where,
while they “regretted” making war on one another, nevertheless
they openly called it war and still made formal declarations of it.
“Russia does not desire war,” Tsar Alexander II reiterated in
both Moscow and St. Petersburg. The Grand Vizier of Turkey
proclaimed : “It is not Turkey that wants war, but Russia . . . We
must free the oppressed Mussulman people of Caucasia sweating
under the Russian yoke.”

Grand Duke Mikhael Nikolaivich, governor of Caucasia, had an
old-fashioned ring in his territorial proclamation in that it made
no pretense of peace. In another way, he was ahead of his time;
he proclaimed war in Caucasia almost a week before his brother
Alexander declared it in St. Petersburg!

The Russian government’s desire to abstain from antagonizing
any of the sections of Caucasia’s mixed population is evident in
the speeches of General Loris-Melikov and reflected in the treat-
ment accorded the Dukhobors. In virtual command of the army
of Caucasia, this soldier-diplomat, regarded in St. Petersburg
for imperial purposes as a “real Russian,” hastened to assure the
Armenians of Caucasia : “The Russian Tsar does not make war
on you, brothers and sisters ; he has not the least idea of attempt-
ing to alter your religion and customs You know I am not of

Russian origin, I belong to the Armenian Church, and my mother
tongue is Armenian. Very well, that has not prevented me from
becoming commander of Ae troops of the Russian Tsar . . .”

^ Spealong in a Tartar area, the general pointed out that the Rus-
sia army “has more than one Tartar general.” In a district where
Circassians predominated, he spoke of a Circassian who had been
made a general and hinted there might be others. He promised the
Mohammedans that the Emperor would “reward those of you
who live peacefully and do not resist our troops.”

LUKERIA

33

In the summer of 1877, Russian troops were still laying siege
to the Mussulman city of Kars, east of the Black Sea. Osman
Pasha’s forces inside the beleaguered city resisted, while, on the
Black Sea, Turkish ships-of-war made transportation increasingly
difficult for the Russians who found themselves short of ammuni-
tion and supplies.

Turning to all possible sources for increased transport. Grand
Duke Mikhael ordered his carriage northward to the Wet Moun-
tains. After jolting through the night along the rock and clay
wagon road, he reached Horelovka and was welcomed by Lukeria.

“Mikhael Nikolaivich, you look very tired,” she said. “When
they told me your carriage was coming I prepared a meal.”

“Spasibo, thank you, Ltdceria Vasilivna, I would enjoy food.
And I have something of importance to say. I cannot stay long.”

“But Mikhael Nikolaivich ! A comfortable bed will be ready for
you, and you should have some sleep as soon as you have eaten.”

The Dukhobors, who customarily addressed their own rulers
by their first names, similarly approached imperial personages,
especially those toward whom they felt friendly. Nor did their
approach to “the great” seem illogical, when all who call them-
selves Christians think of Jesus simply as Jesus, and never as “His
Highness” or “His Holiness.”

While the people of Horelovka and neighboring villages gos-
siped and speculated concerning the purpose of this visit, Mildiael
ate borsch and mutton; and talked to Lukeria of the war in Cau-
casia. The Emperor’s soldiers were very brave, he said, and the
Cossacks were splendid in fighting the Turks and foraging sup-
plies.

It would have been much better if England had not supplied
money and guns to Turkey. The English-made rifles were superior
to those of the Emperor’s soldiers. Russia did not want to lose
Caucasia, but many Russian troops were fighting west of the Black
Sea along the River Danube. If Alexander’s courageous army was
forced to retreat north of the Wet Mountains, it would mean
disaster to the Dukhobors. Their sheep, cattle and horses would
be stolen and their villages pillaged. Then they would have the
choice of remaining under Turkish yoke, or escaping north to
Russia. In the latter event, should Alexander exert himself to
help them? There would be other people to look after, men who
had fought, widows and children of Aose who had died for the
Fatherland. If Turkey won in Caucasia, possibly the best the
Dukhobors could hope for would be serfdom.

34

SLAVA BOHU

“It is very bad.” Lukeria sighed. “Our people do not wish to
fight in the army. It is against our religion.”

“It is not my brother’s wish that you fight as soldiers at this
time,” Mikhael helped himself to lemon and sugar for his tea.
“The Emperor understands such would be contrary to your reli-
gion. Nor do I suggest you take up arms, but you should im-
mediately arrange to assist our army transport. Four hundred
four-horse steel-axle wagons hauling ammunition overland would
be of great help until we are able to sweep the Turkish ships from
the Black Sea. You have the wagons, the horses, and the drivers,
who, I promise you, will be well paid for their work. Will you see,
Lukeria Vasilivna, that a transport is organized with the least
possible delay?”

“Would our people always be behind the line of fire?” she
asked.

“Always, I promise you.”

She had made up her mind to the compromise. It was better
for her people to haul ammunition when they would not themselves
be killed nor have to kill anyone. Better to do this than to refuse
Mikhael Nikolaivich and have trouble.

“I will call Alex Zubkoff, Ivan Baturin and my brother
Mikhael,” she said. “I will explain to them, before you go. I think
I can promise you now that we will have the wagons ready, but
first I must send men on horseback to every village in the Wet
Mountains and every village in Elizevetpolsk, to ask our people
to decide for themselves what they will do.”

Zubkoff, Hubanoff and Baturin, the businessmen, came to
Lukeria’s house. She explained to them the request of Mikhael
Nikolaivich. They agreed, Zubkoff attempting to feign polite con-
descension as if he were doing the grand duke a favor.

“It is a pleasure to help,” said Hubanoff, smirking and rubbing
his hands.

“I’m sure it is,” smiled the grand duke.

All three trustees of the Orphans’ Home welcomed the prospect
of added income; more gold coins would accrue to the strong box.

Mikhael Nikolaivich, a good morning’s work accomplished, ac-
cepted Lukeria’s invitation to sleep in a bed for a few hours. He
was almost asleep when he heard the rhythmic thumping of
horses cantering. The messengers had left for the villages.

In Effremovka, Tambovka, Orlovka, Rodionovka, Spasovka,
and Bashkitshet — all the villages of the Wet Mountains, and in

LUKERIA

35

Slavanka, Novaspasovka, Troitska and all the villages of Elizevet-
polsk, the envoys of Lukeria called meetings and put to the people
the question of organizing a transport for the army. At every
meeting in every village the messengers were asked the same ques-
tion : “What does Lushetchka think we should do ?” The envoys
replied; “She thinks we should haul the supplies for Mikhael
Nikolaivich Romanov and his army.” And the meetings agreed
unanimously. “Then,” said the messengers to Elizevetpolsk, “Lu-
shetchka wishes you to start early tomorrow morning as it may
take a week to drive the two hundred miles to Horelovka. There
she wishes all the wagons to meet, each with their driver and
helper, so that she will speak to everyone at the same time.”

Within two weeks from the morning of Lukeria’s promise to
the grand duke, the broad valley of Horelovka was an encamp-
ment of canvas-covered wagons, horses, fodder, tents and men.
Women, men and children, from near-by villages of the Wet
Mountains visited with the men from Elizevetpolsk settlement,
asked about crops and gardens, inquired after relatives. Some of
the wagoners shined their horses, others leaned on their wagons
smoking paperosa, or sat on their heels, talking and reaching into
the red aprons of the women for sunflower seeds.

“She is coming; Lushetchka is coming now,” shouted a man
above the buzz of voices.

Conversation momentarily ceased. All turned their heads to
watch her four white horses coming from the yard of the Orphans’
Home.

“What will she say?” asked a large-boned and broad-shouldered
woman with pale-blue eyes.

“I hope she has already told the grand duke that our men are
not to be wounded in a battle,” said a woman whose apron strings
sank out of sight like tight twine around the middle of a full bag
of grain.

“Nichevo! No matter! No need to worry,” said an old man.
“Lushetchka will look after ever3?thing. If I were young I would
go too. Look how all these young fellows are enjo3ring it already.
What a time they will have I”

Lukeria’s wagon stopped on the knoll kept clear for her. Her
address to the men of the Dukhobor transport, was brief :

“You have decided at this time,” she said, “to aid military
action, even though indirectly. We have all considered it best to
do this, but you must not take the life of one of the enemy. That
I ask you never to forget. And let no one man among you disgrace

36

SLAVA BOHU

US by looting from the Turks. It is not for us to steal from them
because Turkish robbers have sometimes stolen our sheep. That
would not be the Christian way. You will remember that Christ
said, ‘Do unto others as you would have done unto you.’ ”

She asked them to be kind to the wounded of both sides, then
God would be with them, and soon they would safely return to
their villages. Slava Bohu !

Amid the squeak of harness, the knocking of hoofs against
wagon poles, and the shouting of a thousand men, the horses were
hitdied four abreast to the four hundred wagons. Leather-peaked
caps and sheepskin hats rose like bees disturbed in a meadow, as
drivers and loaders clambered up the wheels to their seats. Pre-
ceded by some thirty mounted outriders, who were to scout for
marauders and treacherous places in the mountain road, the
wagons swung into line. The men and women who stayed behind
still shouted “Slava Bohu!” The gray line of canvas and shifting
dust stretched across the green valley toward the cliffs of the first
mountain range, and so rumbled on to AJexandrapol, army base
for the siege of Kars.

The Dukhobor transport did its work well. Grand Duke Mikhael
paid the wages promised. Not a man was killed, though several
were wounded behind the firing line. Allegiance to Lidceria Va-
silivna grew even greater because of this safe and profitable ven-
ture. Before snow came, the city of Kars had fallen to the Rus-
sians, who pushed on toward the Dardanelles. The Dukhobors
returned to their villages, where, through winter, evenings their
wives, children and grandparents heard stories of war and death.

In the spring of 1878, the Russian advance on Constantinople
stopped, due to a combined threat of England, France and Ger-
many, who again blocked Russia in what, otherwise, would have
been a successful attempt to bring coveted Turkish seaports under
the double eagle of the tsars. Russia retired from the gates of the
Ottoman capital, but retained part of southeastern Caucasia
formerly under Turkish rule. Thus the city of Kars became the
seat of government for the newly formed Kars province, and the
military center for all Caucasia.

Dffiirous of furAering agricultural development in the new
province, the Russian government invited Dukhobors to settle
there. Lukeria was pleased to accept the invitation, especially on
behalf of part of the es^anding population of Elizevetpolsk prov-
ince where there was little good Imd left close to the settlement.
Kars province, to the west of Elizevetpolsk, was nearer the Black

LUKERIA

37

Sea, the soil richer, climate more favorable. Besides, the new
settlers would be closer to Horelovka, the Dukhobor seat of gov-
ernment. Those who moved from Elizevetpolsk were mostly young
couples, whose parents had insufficient land, and older men and
women not materially prosperous. The Verigins, Katelnikoffs,
with other wealthy families, continued to live in Slavanka.

Peter Vasilivich Verigin, who had taken the fancy of Lukeria
was now nineteen. He had not been with the transport. He had
stayed home in the village, working in his father’s store. In the
winter of 1877-78, Russian soldiers had been billeted in the homes
of the villagers and typhus had broken out. Peter Vasilivich,
stricken with the fever, was delirious during two weeks. More
than six feet tall, broad-shouldered, strongly built, he tossed and
raved so that all his brothers were required to hold him in bed,
while his mother and sisters put snow bags on his head. His raving
ceased as suddenly as it had begun. His muscles became limp, his
lips gray and silent. He became weaker and weaker. When incanta-
tions failed, his mother prepared his death clothes, while relatives
and close friends of the family recited psalms at his bedside.
Dunia Katelnikova, the girl who used to walk with him past the
mill pond in the evenings, looked down at his sunken eyes and
thought she would not see him alive again. Two men with a
sleigh were sent to the Wet Mountains to apprise Lukeria of
Peter’s approaching end, but somehow he lived through the night.
The next day, miraculously enough, he took such a turn for the
better that two more messengers with the good news were dis-
patched to overtake those with the bad tidings. The four mes-
sengers reaching Horelovka together, saw, for the first time in
their lives, Lukeria in a state of agitation. Her hands trembled,
she tried to smile through her tears, “He must not die, I know
he will not. It would be too terrible.”

Peter Vasilivich got steadily better as the snow melted, and
spring gave way to summer. On his twentieth birthday, he was
in good health.

Dukhobor tradition has it that the weather is invariably favor-
able on Peter’s Day. The bolshoi hayfield, a few miles from
Slavanka, where all Elizevetpolsk settlement celebrated each year,
was gay with flowers. Milk-white daisies, with yellow centers;
Turk’s-cap lilies, their reddish heads nodding in the breeze, and
blue cornflowers making deeper obeisance on their slender stalks,
all spreading like a great patchwork quilt toward the oak trees at
the rim of purple hiUs. On the roads between the villages, red and

38

SLAVA BOHU

green wagons, carrying families and their provisions for the day,
rumbled toward the great hayfield. There were greetings from
one wagon to another, and the gay laughter of girls rose above
the hum of conversation. Younger men, mounted on their best
horses, flashed in and out of the line of wagons.

As the sun rose higher over the meadow, the confusion of
arrival gradually subsided and the elders prepared for the ordered
routine of religious observance. To the right of the ceremonial
table, with its white cloth, some of the older men in somber blue
beshmets formed to recite a psalm, while several grandmothers
took their places to the left. Groups of men and women who were
conversing here and there came to join the ceremony, and soon
a large human v spread out in the meadow.

Except for the snort of a horse and a lark singing, there was
silence. They spoke first a short psalm, “Praised be Almighty
God,” their voices droning along the meadow. Then, as if from
a vast organ, came the throbbing notes of a psalm in song. A
powerful, yet evasive melody defying retention by unaccustomed
ears. On and on. The cadences rose and fell, like a child crying in
the wilderness, like a wolf baying at the moon. Elemental, primi-
tive music, woven in its own peculiar pattern, telling of preor-
dained loneliness and longing, with here and there a soaring phrase
of hope; the whole underlaid with bass tones reaching down into
the earth’s bowels. A collective acquiescence in life’s melancholy,
as cries the loon alone on a spruce-rimmed lake. And through it
a thread of stolid persistence akin to that agrarian realism of the
Dukhobors, which alternates so amazingly with their credulous
mysticism.

When the last notes had floated away in the flower-scented
breeze, Vasili Verigin, father of Peter Vasilivich, spoke a psalm
as the assemblage stood with bowed heads :

“So says the Lord: ‘The heavens are My throne; the earth is
My footstool. Wherever I may rest is My home, for is not all this
the work of My hands ? Who will My eye rest on with pleasure :
the gentle, the silent and those that fear My word.’ The Lord is
ever near those of contrite heart; He will save those of humble
spirit. He who obeys the will of God, him God will also hear.
Higher, superhuman qualities do not exist in churches, and things
of lower plane receive life only from human hands. Physical
baptism is not true pra3rer before God. Oft repeated motions of
ritual gladden the heart of the devil, but we pray to the only God,
maker of heaven and earth. God is the spirit, God is the word.

LUKERIA

39

God is the man. Well it is to bow down before the true God and
the true Spirit. Slava Bohu! Let us all bow to Almighty God.”

As one they knelt to the ground, touching their foreheads to
the grass.

Then came the “Godly ceremony of kissing in brotherly and
sisterly love.” Beginning with the most devout men and women
who formed the closed end of the v-shaped assembly by the
ceremonial table, one by one they stepped from their places to
face their neighbor, bowed three times, then joining hands, kissed
three times. The ceremony continued throughout three hours, but
it was not possible for everyone to kiss everyone else in that
length of time. Though there were some who had not taken part,
the sun was high, and the assemblage showed sign of restlessness.
Even the elders were getting hungry, so the religious service was
brought to a close with the singing of another psalm.

All went to their wagons to make the meal; women prepared
the vegetables and freshly killed mutton; men carried wood to
the fires blazing under copper pots hanging on iron chains from
wooden tripods. There was much eating, some laughter, and
singing of hymns until the sun sank low in the west. Then the
wagons, merging with the dusk, rumbled back to the villages.

When the stars were bright and the old folk of Slavanka were
sleeping in their beds, Peter Verigin and Dunia Katelnikova
walked past the mill, along the bank of the millstream where it
turned southward through the oak trees. There, beneath the
gnarled branches, he held her close; while she closed her eyes to
shut out the stars.

Summer gave way to winter, and, while the snow was still on
the ground, tongues were wagging in Slavanka. A month after
the marriage ceremony for Peter and Dunia, her girl child died at
birth.

When Lukeria heard of the marriage, she was furious. As soon
as the snow-blocked road out from the Wet Mountains became
passable for wheels, she ordered her covered wagon and twenty
outriders to Slavanka. As the party hurried southward, her maids,
dismayed by her impatience, spoke only when spoken to during
the tense and unpleasant journey. Not once throughout the two
hundred miles did Ivan the driver sing his songs; and even the
horses, their ears moving back and fordi as if to hear the reason
for such unusual behavior, knew that all was not as it should be.

The Dukhobors of Elizevetpolsk as usual assembled on the
edge of the settlement to greet her. To them she gave little out-

40

SLAVA BOHU

ward sign of her own feelings but the ceremony was soon ended.
Lukeria invited Anastasia Verigina, Peter Verigin’s mother, into
her wagon. She was a woman who avoided friction whenever pos-
sible, and had been dreading this meeting. Now her shoulders
drooped a little and in her eyes were sorrow and apprehension.

Lukeria seemed not to notice, her gray eyes adamantine. Her
questions and accusations followed one upon another with such
relentlessness, that, at first, it would have been useless for Anas-
tasia to attempt an answer.

“Anastasia, tell me quickly, how did you let it happen ? Have I
not always said he is mine, and someday I would take him with
me? What does this marriage mean? Bojemoy! My God! Oh,
why was not everything stopped in time? It is terrible. You, his
mother, should have known better.’’

Not once did Lukeria accuse Peter himself. He, for some mys-
terious reason, like a Dukhobor ruler of old, seemed beyond
reproach. Anastasia’s brown eyes were filled with tears, and not
until her shoulders shook with sobbing did Lukeria relent.

“Natusha, what is the matter? Forgive me. But tell me what
we should do?’’

“Never have I felt so badly,” cried Anastasia. “But what can
we do? It has been done. God knows I did not wish it. Yet it is
done.”

Lukeria, sorry now for the mother, put her arm around her.
Anastasia dried her eyes, and what little was said the rest of the
way to Slavanka was not concerning Peter’s marriage.

At the Verigin home, greetings were exchanged and common-
places discussed with noticeable strain during the meal. To lessen
the tension, Anastasia had arranged that Dunia go home to the
Katelnikoffs. Peter attempted to cover his mixed feelings of dis-
comfort and vanity at being the center of attraction. He talked
about the cattle and horses, becoming more nonchalant and self-
assured as he observed in Lukeria’s indulgent glances that she was
not angry with him. He had no thought of changing her attitude,
but, feeling a storm would break soon, excused himself and left
the table.

“Poor Peter I He is still only a boy, and I feel so very sorry that
something regrettable has happened in his life,” began Lukeria.

As everyone was expecting, the conversation turned to the
afiFair in earnest. Peter’s brothers and sisters for the most part
kept silent. Gregori did not like Dunia, “the thin one,” so he did
not defend her. Besides, he did not wish to be disappointed in the

LUKERIA

41

pleasure of basking in additional reflected glory when his brother
became aide to the “Queen.” Varvara, the most handsome sister,
felt that all was not fair to Dunia, but she was not strong enough
to protest.

Peter’s father, Vasili, was the only one who spoke up to
Lukeria. “It is not fair, Lukeria Vasilivna, to blame us. He is my
son, da, but he is not like a horse I can watch in the daytime and
keq) in the stable at night. Tak, he is a grown man and what has
happened has happened.”

Vasili’s logic made Lukeria more impatient. She waited no
longer to say what she had had in mind from the first day she
heard of the marriage. “I warned you, Vasili, I warned you all
that I would someday take Peter away with me. For what rea-
son?” Her black brows arched and quivered. “For the reason that
long ago I set for him a task which makes necessary that I take
him to myself — free from all bonds. Therefore, you must now
arrange a divorce. This is final !” She rose from the table, her head
erect, and went to her room.

Next day, after Vasili Verigin had failed utterly to persuade
Lukeria to change her decision, old Gregori ICatelnikoff, Dunia’s
father, argued bitterly, with no success.

She returned to the Wet Mountains, never to visit Slavanka
again. How is it that a woman as fair and kindly in all else should
in this instance see no blame in Peter, and at the same time, have
no compassion for Dunia? Such are the vagaries lurking deep in
the most reasonable of humans as if planted there by some divine
practical joker, who must know they are to reveal themselves
sooner or later.

The Katelnikoflfs so bitterly opposed the divorce that it was a
year before it became final. The Dukhobors did not customarily
go to the Russian courts for marriage, divorce, or anything else,
but so anxious was Lukeria Vasilivna that nothing should later
interfere with her possession of Peter, that she had the decree
officially sealed in a Russian court.

Late in the fall of 1880, Peter left Slavanka on wheels, but
snow overtook him in the Wet Mountains, and he arrived in
Horelovka by sleigh.

A month after he left, a son was bom to Dtmia. He was named
Peter Petrovich Verigin, and, years later, in a strange and round-
about manner, he was to become divine ruler of the Dukhobors in
Canada.

CHAPTER FIVE

SCHISM

LUKERIA, STANDING by her window, watched Peter's
sleigh approach across the valley. Her heart beat faster with the
ringing of the sleigh bells. At the crunch of his footsteps on the
stone walk, she eagerly opened the door to welcome him.

“Sdorovo jevote! Petushka, I cannot tell you how glad I am
that you are here.”

“Slava Bohu,” he bowed, “And I, too, am pleased to be here,
Lukeria Vasilivna.” He stood flicking some snow from his black
sheepskin hat, not entirely at ease, but with that calm of which he
had already made a habit.

"Kolodno? Cold?” She put his great coat on the red and blue
divan ; then, taking his hands, kissed him three times in conven-
tional fashion. “And where is your brother Gregori?”

“Gregori is in the Orphans' Home with your brother Mikhael.
He said he would soon come to greet you.”

When Gregori and Mikhael Hubanolf came in, Mikhael was
careful to conceal his dislike for Peter Verigin. Cautiously he had
tried, as her brother and “very good friend,” to dissuade her from
the venture. Temporarily he resigned himself, trusting that Peter
would not interfere in the business management, and hoping that
her interest in him would wane.

Zubkoff and Baturin, too, had done their best to persuade her
not to have Peter divorced from Dunia. Reasonable in all else,
Lukeria flared whenever they dared to offer this advice. Zubkoff
shrewdly saw that open criticism would only make her the more
determined. Once, when he had almost lost his temper, she ordered
him to leave her presence, after declaring she “would make Peter
Vasilivich Verigin leader of all the Dukhobors.”

The peasants of Horelovka and neighboring villages gossiped,
but most greeted Peter with the deference due this handsome
young man so close to their ruler. When spring came, he and
Lukeria were constantly together. That summer she ordered the
best carpenters of Horelovka to build a wooden tower, two stories
high, in front of her house. “It will be a shrine,” she announced

42

SCHISM

43

to the people, “and in it I will teach Peter the ways of Gk>d, so
that when I am gone the day will come when he will do great
things for you.”

Only on one occasion some years later, did she allow anyone
other than herself and Peter to enter this strange building, which
was an object of much awe, speculation and some argument
among the faithful. Those who were fortunate enough to be
present when she extended the invitation, saw in the single room
of the ground floor a plain wooden table and two chairs sur-
rounded by bare walls. Up the winding staircase they went, to
peer with curiosity into the round room of the second story. In it
were neither table nor chairs, not even a bench. Turkish rugs of
brilliant red and blue covered the walls, and the floor as well was
soft with them.

To this otherwise reasonable woman, Peter Vasilivich Verigin
became an incongruous trinity of mate, child and deity. Thus did
she idolize him to a point of absurdity which was to have its re-
percussions in Dukhobor history.

When not basking in the warmth of her smiles, Peter Vasilivich
spent much of his time reading the New Testament, and in intro-
spection. "Juroshka, the gloomy one,” she called him when she
found him in this mood. “Juroshka, you must feel brighter. I
want you to shine like the sun.” And, her own eyes dancing with
affectionate adoration, she would look into his petulant ones until
they smiled for her. Then he would tell her of his “Godly thoughts
of how everyone should live their lives in the Spirit of Christ.”
Encouraged by her, he would then and there become a “great
man” both in his own eyes and hers.

Though Lukeria left the management of the sect to Zubkoflf
and her brother Mikhael, she continued to interest herself in the
behavior of her people. Vodka drinking had been increasing, and
one spring when old Semon in the village of Orlovka became so
drunk that he was trampled by a horse, she issued an order that
there must be less drinking. Semon’s accident, following as it did
a Saturday night brawl in Tambovka village, and reports of
drunkenness at weddings in Elizevetpolsk and Kars settlements,
decided Lukeria to warn men and women to stay away from the
bars, kept mostly by Armenians on the outskirts of villages. Con-
cerning weddings, she ordered that no guest should drink more
than two glasses of vodka, and when some then stole extra drinks,
she limited each man and woman to one. There were Dukhobors

44

SLAVA BOHU

who did not drink at all, drunkenness with them being at no time
as prevalent as it was among the Russian peasants generally.

“When on a Saturday night you feel like getting drunk, have
instead a very hot bath and stay longer in the banya,” she advised.

Steam baths had long been an institution with the Dukhobors.
On Saturday evenings everyone from grand-grandparents to
great-granddiildren went to one of the several bathhouses in the
village, and there, stretched out on the long shelves, they sweated
freely in the steam given off by water thrown on the hot stove of
stone. They found the Ruski banya cleansing and relaxing.

As a matter of fact, the cleanliness of the Dukhobors in their
clothes, their food and houses, mdde them less susceptible to epi-
demics which at times swept Caucasia. When cholera broke out in
Kars province, the elders of Terpenia village had guards posted
so that no one might enter with the plague. Vasili Vereschagin,
the village storasta, who had little faith in incantations, saw that
the village was kept cleaner than ever.

But in the neighboring village of Kierelovka, cleanliness and
quarantine were supplemented by incantation. On the edge of the
village, at midnight when the moon was high, twenty-seven vir-
gins met to work the magic formula. Twenty-four of the firm-
breasted girls hitched themselves to a plow, and as they bent their
backs in the harness, the strip of soil turned from the moving
shear. In the furrow between the plow handles walked Tania,
while to each side of her walked Grunia and Folia, who, astride
their oven rakes, brandished black whips with snakelike thongs.
All were dressed in white gowns reaching to their bare feet, their
hair loose and flowing over their shoulders, and they sang as they
strained at this heavy task of magic.

“Dol-oil Dolroi! Away with you!” they chanted. And thus
did they drive away the “evil spirit” of cholera, while plowing a
furrow around the sleeping village to complete the magic circle
past which the dread disease dare not come. As the girls returned
to the village, the moon faded, and far to the east, above the hills,
came die first glow of dawn. Silently they went to bed, for should
they be seen, the spell would be broken and the night's work
undone.

Kierelovka village was not stricken with the cholera. So it was
conceded to fathers and mothers that “all the daughters who that
night pulled the plow, were truly virgins.”

Incantations were used not only in averting disease but also in
an attempt to cure it. As with most agricultural people who in the

SCHISM

45

course of their work lift stones from the land, as well as other
weights, and strain the muscles of the abdomen, some Dukhobor
men and women became ruptured. The protrusion was thought to
be caused by an animal gnawing within the cavity and afflicting its
unfortunate host with pain. To kill the animal, the patient was
given small doses of a potion made from the juice of fresh horse
manure, herbs, incense and tree bark, along with a drop of quick-
silver. This nostrum was prepared in ritual manner, special prayers
and incantations being said during the preparation and over the
afflicted, by women accredited with supernatural powers. Deep
secrecy surrounded the whole proceeding. Though few suffering
from hernia died either as a direct result of the affliction or the
nostrum, their capacity for work was diminished; and when even-
tually the ruptured man died of old age or other cause, no one
dared cut him open to discover the mysterious animal. Thus, as it
was not disproved, the idea of the animal’s existence persisted
among the more credulous.

Inflammation of the bowels — ^appendicitis — ^which in most cases
brought death to the patient, as surgery for it was unknown, was
sometimes treated by the following formula :

“She who has special power from Almighty God must take a
big bowl half filled with water and place it carefully on the belly
of the sick person. In the bowl put also some salt, ashes and char-
coal, and set in it nine wooden spoons, their handles standing up.
Then passing three of the spoons quickly through her fingers and
from one hand to the other, she must say :

Almighty have pity on this slave of God,

And take this sickness from him.

I, incanting against this sickness, tell the evil
Spirit it must not stay here inside this man.

Leave him, I say, and into the deep forest go where
The blessed sun and moon may never shine on you.

And you will not find your way bade here.

While Lukeria did not forbid incantations for the sick, she dis-
couraged them as “being of little use to help the suffering ones.”

Her attitude toward dancing, a social emotional release of peas-
ants the world over, was not of puritanical strictness. During her
rulership, dancing was openly enjoyed, though frowned upon as
ungodly by many village elders. Secretly at first, on a meadow
hidden by rocks or trees, young men and women would congregate

46

SLAVA BOHU

to dance, folk style, to the accompaniment of reed pipes until the
ground was tramped black. Everyone went home pleasantly tired
and happy. Later, when it was the custom to clear the floor in the
village homes at weddings, a few of the flute players became ex-
pert on their homemade instruments.

Contrary to Lukeria’s attitude toward such amusement among
the people, Peter Vasilivich Verigin was of those who looked on
rfa nring as un-Christian. For the most part he confined his con-
demnation to wearing a holier-than-thou face whenever he wit-
nessed “this practice not becoming to a true Christian.”

Feeling his inferiority to Lukeria, manlike he tried to make up
for it by posing as an oracle before others. Someday, he thought
to himself, they will know how great a man I am. His elephantine
smugness, his half-dreamy, half-critical eyes, and the air of
superiority which he wore like a suit of clothes, had so aimoyed
Zubkoff ihat there was little conversation between them.

While Peter’s formal marriage to Dunia had of necessity been
a more hasty affair, the steps leading to Dukhobor marriage were
customarily elaborate. The succession of ceremonies by which a
young man and woman finally became united in wedlock was
similar to that which prevailed amongst the peasantry elsewhere
in Russia, except that the Dukhobors made use of neither priests
nor churdies.

In accord with the semioriental tradition, marriage was often
of greater concern to the parents than to the young persons in-
volved. In some instances of parent-arranged marriage, the pros-
pective man and wife had not so much as seen one another prior
to the initial engagement ceremony. One reason for parental
matchmaking was that after the marriage the son with his bride
generally lived in the patriarchal home of his parents, grand-
parents and even great-grandparents. Thus the old folks earnestly
discussed the merits of a tentative marriage before taking steps
to bring the young people together. Should the matchmakers reach
a favorable decision, the first formal step was taken by the parents
of the prospective groom. His parents acquired the services of a
mutual friend, known as a svat, to act as intermediary between
the households.

When the prospective bride’s parents lived in another village,
a way was found to let them know the day on which the svat,
accompanied by the prospective groom’s parents and the groom
himself, would call at the bride’s home. This initial formal call
was usually made in the early hours of the morning. With feigned

SCHISM

47

surprise and much ceremony the visitors were ushered into the
house where the svat promptly put a large bottle of vodka on the
table.

Though all were aware of the purpose of the visit, it was con-
sidered good form to discuss the weather, crops and other general
topics before the svat turned the conversation to matrimony. Soon
he began extolling the prospective bride while she listened behind
the curtained door. When the svat first asked the bride’s mother
for her consent, she feigned reluctance. Eventually, as the svat
enumerated the virtues of the groom, the bride’s mother con-
sented, whereupon the bride-to-be came from behind her curtain
and took the hand of the young man. They were then asked if they
desired to marry one another, and after giving affirmative answers
they knelt in front of their respective parents and received bless-
ings. Thus ended the first ceremony which was called the
svatovstvo.

Time and place was then set for the engagement celebration,
known as the sapoy, to which relatives, close friends and neigh-
bors were invited. Happy hymns, much eating and some vo^a
was the rule when the young couple received good wishes made
tangible by presents, usually money. Each gift was acknowledged
by the bride and groom kissing one another. Part of the money
went to finance the final and most costly celebration, the wedding,
or svadba.

Usually the entire district joined in the wedding celebration
when at long tables the guests sat eating and drinking. Beside the
bowls filled with food there were empty bowls conveniently placed
to receive gifts of money. Each time a wedding present was
dropped in a bowl, the bride and groom, standing at one end of the
table, were obliged to kiss for the entertainment of the guests.
Ami^t merriment and shouts of “a kiss for every kop^” the
svadba went on until night and exhaustion overtook the guests,
and the excited bride and groom were permitted to retire to their
marriage bed.

When the homes of the bride and groom were in widely sepa-
rated villages, the svadba was celebrated in each of the villages.
Small wonder that when marriages were so carefully planned and
thoroughly publicized there were few separations and fewer
divorces. Not all marriages were planned by parents. When a
young man and a young woman were sufficiently attracted to one
another, they confided their desires to their respective parents.
And if the old folk thought fit, the svatovstvo was proceeded with

48

SLAVA BOHU

in the same manner as if they had thought of the match in the first
place.

But a dark cloud came over the peasant joy in weddings pd
Peter’s Day celebrations when the Dukhobors learned of the im-
perial government’s new order involving them in military con-
scription. The long arm of double eagle bureaucracy was reaching
yet farther into this frontier, and for the first time in many years,
Dukhobors were obliged to enter the army of the Tsar.

Lukeria was distressed. To whom should she appeal? Her
friend. Grand Duke Mikhael, was no longer governor. Zumbatoff,
the new governor, was ambitious to show the new tsar, Alexander
III, that “Caucasia is now united for God, for Tsar and for
FaAerland.’’ Should her followers refuse to become soldiers ? To
refuse would mean much trouble.

“Peter, tell me what to do?”

He looked at her, then at the wall as if expecting to find the
answer. “Christ said, ‘Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s.’ But
are our young men Caesar’s ? I would say they are not, and if they
are not, why should they be given to the Tsar? Yet would it be
right for us to strike at the government ? Christ said, ‘Turn the
oAer cheek.’ ” After further quotations from the New Testament,
Peter said, “I think you should do what you think best.”

When she put the question to her followers they as usual de-
clined to decide for themselves, insisting, “What does Lushetchka
think we should do ?”

Saddled with this responsibility, Lukeria chose to avoid conflict
with the government.' '‘I am only a woman, as you know, and it
would not be well for me to ask you to go against the govern-
ment,” she told her anxious people. “Someday, when a man is
your leader, you will again refuse to be soldiers. At this time there
is no war and that is fortunate. It is very sad that young men
must leave their wives and families to go far away with the army.
May Almighty God bring them safely home again. To those of
you who are taken as recruits, remember that in a battle, always
shoot over the heads of the enemy so as never to kill anyone.
Slava Bohu!”

That smnmer, all Dukhobor men reaching the age of twenty-one
years, received notice to appear in the autumn of the year at the
nearest government town for medical examination. There officials
of the Tsar conducted the draw. Small pieces of paper were rolled
and put in a hat; each young man drawing a marked paper had
to serve if he were found medically fit. While the draw was in

SCHISM

49

process everyone watched with intense interest, searching the faces
of the men who had drawn for their expression of relief or dis-
may. Thus, it was possible to see who had drawn a blank paper
and who had been so unfortunate as to find a marked one in his
hands. When the officials had secured a sufficient number of men
to fill the quota for a year — ^about ten per cent of those coming of
age — ^the draw was finished. Those who were taken had three
years in the army before them, after which they went on the
reserve list to be called in time of war. In time of peace the only
son of a father was exempt. All able-bodied men from the age of
twenty years to forty were subject to call in the event of war.

The three-year term of service was considerably less than that
of the twenly-five-year period of army service which had been
general in Russia before, but the life of the Russian soldier re-
mained a hard one. For the first six months he was attached on
trial to a training unit where he was drilled tmceasingly. At the
end of this time he was appointed to a regiment, and if he were
very tall and good-looking he might find himself in the guards,
where service conditions were better than in regiments of the line.
If drafted into a line regiment, his billet would be in one of the
towns or villages, wherever his regiment happened to be quartered
at the time, and such quarters were not generally of the best. If
his sleeping place was cold in winter, seldom was he ofiFered the
warm shelf above the stove, choice bed of the peasant’s hut. In
summer months the soldier camped out and went through hard
training. His daily pay was one half cent. On the march and in
time of war, it was increased to one cent, plus a mess allowance of
two cents a day and a ration of meat on other than fast days. In
addition, the men received a daily ration of two pounds of flour,
a little barley and salt, and they were at times allowed to earn
money as laborers along the line of march.

Reluctantly, Dukhobor young men said good-bye to their vil-
lages and went away to the army. They saw no adventure to com-
pensate for their life on the land, and there were those who sin-
cerely believed it wrong to kill men under any circumstances.

During the summer of 1886 Lukeria was in poor health, and in
the fall of that year, fearing an internal disorder, she journeyed
to Tiflis to consult a doctor. “If I should die soon,” she told Peter,
who went with her to the city, “I would not be unhappy when I
know that you will live to carry out the great things you have
planned in God’s work.”

50

SLAVA BOHU

“I will be very sorry if you have to leave me. I will always do
as God wills,” he said.

While Lukeria’s fears were being confirmed in Tiflis, Peter
Verigin went to Slavanka. For the first time since he had left his
native village, he visited his father and mother, his brothers and
sisters, all of whom welcomed him as a great man. He managed
to see his divorced wife Dunia alone, though her father would
have nothing to do with him. While many people of Slavanka and
neighboring villages looked to him with awe, a number saw him
as a handsome, dreamy and two-faced pretender, and they sided
with the Katelnikoffs against him. His son, Peter Petrovich Veri-
gin, now seven years of age, of fine physique like his father and
possessed of an active brain, was already spoiled by his mother
and her relatives.

Beneath the sorrow for Lukeria in her illness, openly expressed
and sincerely felt by most of the people, was an undercurrent of
whispering as to “who will everyone recognize as our new leader
if poor Lushetchka should die?” Peter evaded this question and
others of lesser importance by referring to “the wisdom of Al-
mighty God in all things.” His pious manner furthered him as
“Peter the Lordly” in the eyes of those already committed to
him, but it made his critics the more bitter.

Leaving Slavanka in two camps of thinly veiled hostility, with
the majority on his side, he returned to Lukeria in Tiflis. “I saw
poor Dunia there,” he told her, “and I tried to comfort her, which
is the Christian way ; for when we are true Christians, we must
forgive everyone his sins.”

For a moment, jealousy flamed in Lukeria’s tired eyes, but soon
they were dim wiA tears. “You are wonderful,” she said, “living
so much in the Spirit of Christ. I have always been sure I could
trust you. Slava Bohu!”

The second week in December, when the snow was deep in the
valleys of the Wet Mountains, and the gray wolves of Caucasia
came nearer to the sheep pens, she called to her bedside Zubkoff,
Mikhael Hubanoff and the elders of neighboring villages. Even
Zubkoff, his mind filled with plans to succeed her, was shocked by
the dark rings under her eyes.

“I will soon leave you in charge of Peter who stands before you
here,” she said with an effort. “For long, you know, I have had
him close to me so that he would become your leader when I am
gone. Slava Bohu 1 Praise God !”

SCHISM 51

Mikhael knelt by her bed. “It is terrible to think of you leaving
ns, but your soul will be happy in Heaven.”

All were sorry to see Lukeria going. Even Zubkoff had tears in
nis eyes, though his conviction that Peter Verigin should not be-
come ruler never left him.

Peter spoke not a word. He stood aloof, with an air of deep
concern, as if he were no ordinary human being, but especially
subject to God’s Will in this, as in all other things.

On December 15, 1886, Lukeria died. While her maids and the
older women closest to her dressed her in death clothes, women
from all the villages of the Wet Mountains wailed their cries of
mourning. After lying in state for three days, her body was buried
in the Holy Cemetery near Horelovka, a burial ground set apart
for the great and near-great of Dukhobordom.

Immediately after the funeral service, Mikhael Hubanoff — ^in
accord with his agreement with Zubkoff — approached Peter,
warning him to leave Horelovka.

“You should go now, Peter. I tell you partly as your friend,
there is no use for you to stay,” Mikhael said in his thin voice.
“Everyone in the Orphans’ Home thinks you should not be the
leader, but they do not wish to harm you. Think also of Evasi
Konkin, who is as you know a starshina of many villages and
highly thought of. Also Vasili Strelioff, Vasili Agabonoff,
Gregori Katelnikoff and other men with much influence among
cur people — ^they all oppose you.”

Peter, arms folded, looked complacently into space.

“I wish you no harm,” Mikhael continued, “and I do not like
to talk about these things so soon after my sister’s death, but you
should see that I am partly your friend, and also surely it would
pot be the will of God ihat everyone should quarrel and all the
brothers and sisters divide against one another. Besides,” he whis-
pered, “you know how Zumbatoff, the governor of Caucasia, is
watching our affairs. Much trouble might come if he saw we could
not agree among ourselves !”

“If Christ decides that I shall be the leader, then I shall be the
leader,” Peter began. “He will know what is best for all the
brothers and sisters. Now I can say that I do not covet the gold
which is in the strongbox of the Orphans’ Home, and I am will-
ing that what is Caesar’s be rendered unto Caesar. Christ said, Tf
cherefore ye have not been faithful in the unrighteous mammon,
who will commit to your trust the true riches?’

52

SLAVA BOHU

“Did not Christ say,” Peter continued, “ ‘If he smiteth you on
one cheek turn the other?’ Then, that is what I shall do in the
Spirit of Christ. You and your conspirators have smote me. I have
turned the other cheek to you. Now I will leave you all, praying
for your souls and knowing that God will guide me in what is
right. Slava Bohu !”

Feeling much the martyr, Peter went to his room, resigned to
leaving the Wet Mountains. He would go to his home in Slavanka.
It would surely be God’s will that Zubkoff be punished for this,
and he, Peter, with his following, might conceivably be the instru-
ment. While he was deep in thought, there was a knock at his
door, and old Ivan Mahortoff stood there, his great back bent.

“Oh, Peter ! Our Petushka ! We have heard how the evil ones
would make you go away. But it is not right, when with her last
words she made you ruler over all Dukhobors. Petushka,
Petushka, we beg you not to leave us. I have come to you to speak
for many who want you to guide us in the Spirit of Christ.” And
the old man wept so, that tears ran into his beard.

“Dedushka, grandfather,” Peter put a priestlike hand on the old
one’s shoulder, “God tells me, Ivan, that you speak truly. I shall
stay as you suggest.”

“Spasibo, spasibo. Thank you, thank you. I will take word to
the true believers in Christ.” The old man, nodding his gray head,
smiled now through his tears.

Then in Horelovka and all the villages of the Wet Mountains,
animosity grew between elders who supported Alex Zubkoff, and
those who favored Peter Verigin. While adherents of both fac-
tions were dispatched to Elizevetpolsk and Kars settlements to
extol the virtues of their choice, Zubkoff journeyed to Tiflis to
seek assistance from officials of the Tsar.

“Peter Verigin will defy the government! Already he calls him-
self Christ and Tsar,” Zubkoff informed Zisurman, the governor
of Tiflis. "He will make much trouble for everyone.”

“Did Lukeria Vasilivna leave a written will passing her prop-
erty on to Peter Verigin? Did she make written attestation that
he should fall heir to the property of the Orphans’ Home?” asked
Zisurman.

"Nyet. There was no written will,” Zubkoff answered.

‘Tn that case,” continued the governor, “is it not possible that
Lukeria was so ill she may not have been in her right mind when
she orally made Peter her heir? Then it would seem to me that
her property should go to her next of kin, Mikliael Hubanoflf.”

SCHISM

53

“That is what we also think, Your Excellenqr,” said Zubkoflf
who had Mikhael Hubanoff ’s assurance that he was willing to be
the nominal heir while he, Zubkoff, would continue as the actual
administrator.

The governor assured Zubkoff that he should return to Hore-
lovka, and everything would be properly arranged through the
Russian courts.

In the Orphans' Home, men of the Hubanoff-Zubkoff faction
stood guard night and day over the strongbox of gold coins.
Shepherds, catiJe herders and horse tenders known to be sym-
pathetic to Peter were one by one replaced with “sensible men.”
Though it would have been next to impossible to move the thou-
sands of livestock out of the Wet Mountains in the depth of win-
ter, “it is not known what may happen,” Alex warned Mikhael.

^njecture about “who wiU be our new leader?” had boiled
away to leave a residue of bitterness in the villages of Elizevet-
polsk and ICars, where the most determined men and women of
both factions prq)ared for the journey to Horelovka to witness
the “holy ceremony of the entry of Ltikeria’s soul into Heaven,”
six weeks after her death. Following the traditional ceremony at
the graveside, the new ruler would be installed in office according
to a custom not unlike a coronation.

On January 29, 1887, the snow of the Holy Cemetery was
tramped hard by thousands of felt-lined boots, and the wintry air
of the Wet Mountains seemed crisper by the tension of the people
gathered in the valley. Family relationships, livestock and every-
day subjects of conversation were forgotten as one Dukhobor
searched the face of another ... Is he on my side? . . . Our side?
Nor did the presence of “govermnent men” from Tiflis help to
allay distrust and animosity.

“Smotret! Look! There stands Zumbatoff the governor,”
bristled Stq)hen to his friend, also a follower of Verigin.

“Da, yes, our brothers brought him,” Semon spat in the snow.
“Prav^, true, our brothers have become many times worse than
Turks.”

The crowd was taking shape for the ceremony, men to the right
of Lukeria’s grave and women to the left. Their breath, gray in
the frosty air, was a visible prelude to the opening psalm, a dole-
ful melody which droned, as if chained to earth, along the treeless
valley. WTien its last notes had gone, the assemblage ponderously
knelt down, and foreheads touched the ground in solenm reverence
to Almighty God. Slowly, they rose ag^.

54

SLAVA BOHU

“To the memory of Lukeria, and for the peace of her soul to be
received in God’s Heaven this day,” prodaimed an elder with
stentorian voice.

“Slava Bohu!” they said as one, kneeling again and bowing low.

When they rose, old Ivan Mahortoff stood erect and stem ; if
his lips trembled they were hidden by his beard, as gray as
Lukeria’s tombstone that reached almost to his bared head.

“Brothers and sisters,” he said, “let us in the true Dukhobor
way bow low to demonstrate our allegiance to Peter Vasilivich
Verigin, our leader in the Spirit of Qirist, and in accord with the
last words of our beloved Lukeria Vasilivna Kalmikova.”

The followers of Peter knelt and bowed low. The serrated ranks
of men and women showed that those left standing in awkward
silence were against Verigin and favorable to Zubkoif and
Hubanoff.

Imperial police, who had been standing with Governor Zum-
batoif on a rise of land near by, pulled notebooks and pencils from
the pockets of their fur coats to place a mark against the names
of the Dukhobors on their knees in allegiance to Verigin.

When the Verigin followers rose from their knees to stand
beside “brothers and sisters” who had not bowed, all these people
were stunned with the knowledge that their sect had split in two.
This numbing realization gave way to invective. Accusations were
exchanged, and epithets hurled at one another.

“Robbers!” shouted a woman at a “sister” who was now a
“devil,” “I spit in your face, and hope God will punish you for
your sins.”

“Look, look, what are they doing to our Petushka,” whispered
a Dukhobor who edged closer to hear what Governor Zumbatoff
was sa3dng to Peter.

The governor was requesting that Peter show his passport, that
important document without which anyone in Russia was liable
to arrest. Peter could not find his passport in his pocket, nor was
it with his papers in his room.

“I think you had better come with us to Achkalkalaki,” said
the governor.

Thus the “mad Dukhobors” and the “bad Dukhobors,” with
anger and apprehension in their hearts, watched imperial police
escort Peter Vasilivich Verigin to a sleigh and disappear toward
the snow-shrouded mountains. Never again to see the valley of
Horelovka!

CHAPTER SIX

PETER VASILIVICH VERIGIN

IN THE GOVERNMENT TOWN of Achkalkalaki, Peter
was warned of the consequences should he persist in posing to
his followers “as Christ, prophet, and tsar.” He said he was merely
a victim of the conspirators, Hubanoff, Zubkoff, and others “who
would steal the property which rightfully belongs to all the
brothers and sisters. I am not a leader of those whom you call
my followers. I am only one of the brothers, a humble slave of
God, wishing to be left alone to live in the Spirit of Christ, as
all men should.”

Peter made his plea so convincingly the authorities felt unable,
peremptorily, to dispatch him to Siberia. Instead, they sent him
to a higher court, in Elizevetpol, capital of Elizevetpolsk prov-
ince, where he was questioned by the provincial governor, Naka-
shi(ke. But Nakashidze, also unable to make up his mind, sent
Verigin under police escort to his home village of Slavanka,
arranging that he be kept under observation.

These warnings, questionings and police escorts served to
arouse in Peter a stubborn resistance. He became further con-
vinced that he was a martyr for a divine cause; but, cautious as
he was, he could not forego a natural feeling of revenge against
the Hubanoff-Zubkoff-Katelnikoff faction, and the Tsar’s gov-
ernment.

Verigin’s followers in Slavanka, with peasant sagacity, ceased
openly to acclaim him their leader. When he returned to them,
there was no ceremony such as had so often been accorded Lu-
keria. But knowing them as he did, he read easily the looks of
adoration in their eyes. All this they affirmed in secret at the
first opportunity, and he, in his turn, confirmed their suspicions
that they must never admit his leadership to outsiders.

Neither declaring himself as the incarnation of Jesus Christ,
nor denpng the historic office, he hinted mysteriously of “great
sacrifices we may be called upon to make in the name of Christ.”

“The Lord, Peter Vasilivich, is our leader,” sobbed a woman
to a trusted sister, who had looked deeply into the ^es of “his
mother, Anastasia, who now is truly the Mother of God.”

55

56

SLAVA BOHU

At that moment, as if in answer to a prayer, Verigin entered
the whitewashed house, startling the women with his presence.

“Slava Bohu! Slava Bohu! Our dear Petushka is here,” cried
Anutka, drying her eyes with her apron.

He looked dovra on them, laying a hand on each of their
heads with that grace of movement which was to fascinate so
many men and women.

“There will be much suffering in Christ,” he spoke softly, but
with the inevitability of a prophet. “Fear not for the future. We
who obey God will be rewarded in the end.”

The women ceased sobbing and kissed his hands. They felt he
had given them strength to bear any persecution the government
might inflict, and he in his turn felt power rising within himself ;
his egoism fed on their credulous faith and adoration.

“Be careful,” he whispered, “to speak of me in public only as
one of your brothers, "l^en you are asked who is your leader,
answer firmly, ‘We have no leader. We are brothers and sisters
in Christ, and no one among us is greater than another.’ ”

This, and similar formulas, were indelibly impressed on the
minds of the children as soon as they were able to talk; and later,
as well, when their own observations and reasoning might lead
them to doubt the verity of these words. Thus Peter Verigin re-
established the blanket of secrecy and perjury, so impenetrable
in the days of Kapustin, and wlucdi Lukeria had laid aside.

Adherents of the two opposing groups of Dukhobors no longer
spoke to one another. The “mad” Dukhobors removed their cattle
from pastures where the cattle of the “bad” Dukhobors grazed,
so that the animals would not become contaminated. Families
continued to split up as the regrouping into the two factions
continued. There was an exodus from village to village, resulting
in certain villages being entirely inhabited by followers of Veri-
gin, while others became whoUy composed of unbelievers. The
Verigin followers, hurling the q>ithet “No-Dukhobor” at the
unbelievers, reserved for ftemselves the sole right to the sacred
name of Dukhobor.

Nakashidze, governor of Elizevelpolsk province, who was
c^rged by his superiors with the task of finding witnesses to
give evidence against Verigin, in order that he be convicted on a
specific charge of inciting insubordination, was at a loss to know
what to do. No one among the “No-Dulchobors” was willing to
appear in court to testify falsely or otherwise. “We are fright-

PETER VASILIVICH VERIGIN 57

ened,” they said; “we do not know what the mad ones will do
if they should find out it is we who have betrayed them.”

Though certain that Verigin was encouraging the Dukhobors
in obstinacy and quibbling in the face of army conscription,
Nakashidze was, nevertheless, unable to fix the blame on this
most annoying muzhik with the body of a Greek god, the face
of a Tartar noble, and the pose of a martyred CSrist. To see
what might come of it, the governor, on the advice of Magistrate
Asak-beku, had Peter and his father arrested early in March and
brought to the city of Elizevetpol to live under police surveil-
lance. The two Verigins were given permission to live with a
wealthy Armenian friend, Efrem Nanas, who took them into his
home, after supplying the governor with a bond against their
leaving the city.

Messengers from Peter’s native village came from time to
time to ascertain “his word,” in order Siat the faithful should
be constantly advised how to live in the “Spirit of Christ.” Sev-
eral were questioned by the authorities but to no avail. Under
threat of the knut, they insisted that they were interested in the
Verigins “only as two of our brothers in Christ who are being
persecuted.”

Young Semon Osachoff of Slavanka went with his father to
Elizevetpol, where they visited Peter and bought a new wagon.
The young man had a rooted conviction that to serve in an army
was to serve the devil in murder, and his zeal was as deep as
his shoulders were broad. To him Peter prophesied, “the time is
coming when all true believers will refuse to be soldiers. Always
we must obey Christ. Slava Bohu. But I warn you that soon I
may be sent away to the farthermost comer of the Tsar’s em-

• 33

pire.

Some months went by before it was Semon Osachoff’s turn to
refuse military service and find himself in prison, his back seared
deep by the blows of the guards.

In midsummer, Peter Verigin complained of the heat in
Elizevetpol. “I was not bora to live in a city,” he appealed to
Pescherov, the governor’s assistant. “I would very mu^ like to
' return to my home. Why is it necessary that we should be kept
here against our will when we have done harm to no man?”

Pesdierov, of the opinion that Verigin’s influence was exag-
gerated by his superior, approached the governor, and the peti-
tion was granted.

58

SLAVA BOHU

Peter’s return to Slavanka was viewed with anger and appre-
hension by the “No-Dukhobors.” Least pleased was Gregori
KatelnikofF, who despised Peter for his abandonment of Dunia
and her son. To add injury to insult, Peter was the man most
responsible for the bitter split among the people. It hurt these
exceptionally gregarious people to see their sect fall apart in two
bitter factions. Get rid of Peter, the leaders of the opposition
thought, and the “mad brothers” might forget about him. It
should have been evident to the conspirators that the wish was
father to the thought; that rancorous impatience had brought
forth a conclusion which any Dukhobor should have recognized
as unsound. Removal from the scene had always manufactured
martyrs instead of amnesia. But those opposed to Peter con-
tinued whispering to the village starosta, a tsarist government
appointee since the trouble, that Peter was agitating secretly “and
setting their minds against us so that we live in continual fear
of our lives, not knowing what they will do to us.” None of the
informers could appear as witnesses against Verigin, “but the
government should do something now before it is too late . . .
send him away, possibly, faraway.”

These promptings helped Governor Nakashidze make up his
mind. Late in July, he set in motion the “wheels of justice,” which
carried Peter from prison to prison in that fashion peculiar to
the old empire of the tsars.

On August 1, 1887, Peter, arrested in Slavanka, was taken to
Elizevetpol and imprisoned. On August 15, he was moved to
Tiflis prison, where Dukhobor messengers, always hovering at
his heels, were not allowed to see him. At midnight, September
10, he was moved to Dushetski prison, a few more miles along
the road which leads north to Moscow, and Siberia. Here some
of the faithful were allowed to talk with him, but each was care-
fully questioned afterwards. Here the authorities also allowed
him to receive money from his followers, so that he could pay
his own expenses on the way to exile. Tiflis prison was reached
on October 10, and Peter learned that he was to be banished
“somewhere” to the far north, by “administrative order,” thus
obviating the need for a trial. Ivan Stepanovich Verigin, a close
relative, and Emelian Dimitrividi Dimitriev, an admirer of
Dukhobor ways of life, obtained permission to accompany him,
His place of exile was to be the town of Shenlcursk, in the prov-
ince of Archangel, some 1,500 miles, as the crow flies, north of
his native village of Slavanka. Well supplied with money, the

PETER VASILIVICH VERIGIN

59

party left Tifiis with post horses. For only those exiles who
could not afford transportation were required to walk in the
chain gang.

Climbing steadily to a higher altitude, the snow necessitated
transferring to relays of sleighs which day and night wound
through the cold peaks of the Caucasian Mountains. Once they
reached the northern slope of the mountains the snow was less
deep and the air wanner, until at the railhead of Vladikavkaz, it
was almost like summer. The police guard was in cheerful mood
as the party got on the train for Moscow. It was not so bad a
task escorting exiles who had money to travel properly. They
would travel nine hundred and fifty miles to Moscow, three hun-
dred miles north, still by train, to Vologoda, end of the railway
line; then two hundred and fifty miles by sleigh over a corduroy
road flanked by seemingly endless snow, to the fur-trading and
government town of Shenlcursk.

Along the wintry streets of Shenkursk to the governor’s office
went the sleigh, the inhabitants looking out from their windows
for a glimpse of the new exile, and some going outdoors to peer
at his furs, with the hope of seeing the face of this newcomer,
reputed to be wealthy.

“His sleigh is coming now,” shouted the butcher’s boy, through
a swirl of frosty air in the shop doorway.

“Shut the door, fool, do you think we bum wood in the stove
to heat the whole of Arkhangelsk?” The butcher's wife scolded.
“My coat,” and she too hurried onto the street.

Across the street, a barkeeper with several idlers stood watch-
ing Peter’s entry. “Religious or political, do you know?” he asked
Efrem. Efrem didn’t. The question was of importance to vendors
of vodka and vino, for religious exiles were generally poor cus-
tomers until they lost their religion, while political exiles were
sometimes good ones, when they had money.

Even in Shenkursk, larger than most northern outposts, the
arrival of an exile was news to everyone. Word of his coming,
along with a few facts and much speculation, usually preceded
these wards of the government. Verigin, muffled in his furs, was
aware of the interest, but he sat facing straight ahead, as if
oblivious to such tmchristian curiosity.

“I suppose you know the restrictions you are under here,” said
the governor addressing Verigin, as the arrivals warmed their
fingers around the office stove. “You know that you must not
leave the town limits of Shenkursk. And you must not persuade

60

SLAVA BOHU

anyone to your own heresy. That is all. You may go now. But
let me hear a good account of you.” On second thought, looking
up at Verigin’s great shoulders, “One moment. Turn around.
It will pay you to be civil to the servants of Tsar Alexander III.”

Verigin thanked the governor, bowing his head no lower than
necessary, and went through the door without being recalled.

He rented a house in good repair, engaged a housekeeper, and
so passed the winter witiiout hardship, reading the New Testa-
ment and occasionally condescending to instruct other exiles how
a “true Christian should live.” Before the snow went, the house-
hold was supplemented by Vasili Obedkoff, a particularly faithful
Dukhobor from Caucasia, who brought with him a considerable
Stan of rubles. In the spring they rented a garden, digging and
planting it themselves, also purchasing a horse and two cows.

The effect of Verigin’s exile on his followers was to increase
their allegiance. The most fanatical saw him as Christ in the flesh,
as wdl as in the spirit; the moderates as Christ’s representative
on earth, and others, as the greatest of living men. All felt their
earthly and heavenly destinies linked to him.

His banishment increased the bitterness of the Verigin adher-
ents against the “No-Dukhobors,” whom they branded as con-
spirators, spies, and traitors to God. Lukeria’s brother, the arch-
traitor, had received from the Russian courts legal title to the
gold coins in the strongbox of the Orphans’ Home, also to the
livestock and property formerly held communally in the name of
Lukeria. But Hubanoff remained true to his agreement with
Zubkoff and the others, making no attempt to run off with the
movable assets. The entire estate was now administered as com-
munal property for those opposed to Verigin.

The Verigin followers furffier earned the displeasure of certain
imperial officials, by insisting, on secret advice from Peter, that Hu-
banoff and his coterie had bribed the officials involved prior to
Peter’s arrest. Zumbatoff, governor of Caucasia, had supposedly
received 10,000 rubles; the vice-governor, Deyachkov-Tarasov,
5,000 rubles; Zisurman, governor of Tiflis, a pair of purebred
stallions valued at 2,000 rubles, and lesser officials had received
smaller amounts in cash and livestock. What hurt the Verigin
followers was the gnawing thought that their mon^ and prop-
erty had been used to banish their leader.

The pro years from 1888 to 1890 saw little change among the
people in Caucasia. Dukhobors who submitted to army cojiscrip-
tion with more than ordinary reluctance continued to suffer harsh

PETER VASILIVICH VERIGIN

61

treatment, not a few finding themselves in dark prisons, or under
relentless “discipline” in penal battalions. Intermittent, but in-
trepid messengers traversed the breadth of Russia to visit their
ruler and carry his latest word back to the faithful. For the most
part the messengers, at this time, were able to obtain passports.
In some instances these visits were subtly encouraged by the
imperial government in the expectation that prison cells and adroit
questioning might bring forth information of value. But it did
not. The messengers persisted in their stock answers through
threats, punishment, or cajolery. To the question put time and
time again, “Who is your leader?” the answer came unfalter-
ingly : “We have no leader, none among us is greater than an-
other. We are all brothers and sisters in Christ.”

“"Who, then, is Peter Verigin?”

“He is one of our poor brothers exiled to the harsh north for
his Christian faith.”

“"What did he tell you?”

“He told us to obey Christ and live in the Christian way,” and
with blue eyes looking at his interrogator, the Dukhobor would
quote quiet texts from the New Testament.

Verigin sent lengthy quotations from the New Testament in
letters addressed to members of his family in Caucasia. These
letters were released by the recipients to be read aloud by one or
two literate individuals for the benefit of the mass who listened
expectantly for “hidden meanings” and parables. For days fol-
lowing the arrival of a letter the faithful variously maintained
that “Petushka meant us to understand this. . . .” “Nyet, he
meant instead . . Elders were asked to shed the light of their
wisdom on this and that “hidden meaning.”

Verigin, fond of good horses, let his followers know that those
in Shenkursk were not the spirited animals raised by the Duk-
hobors. So after much discussion as to what horse to send and
who should take it, it was decided to dispatch a dark bay stallion,
valued at 500 rubles, and Ivan, Peter’s brother, to take the horse
to Shenkursk.

In Shenkursk Ivan found Peter in good health and discussing
religion and philosophy with other exiles, Stundists, Baptists,
Tolstoyans, and occasionally engaging in argument with revolu-
tionaries who spoke of the teachings of a man called Karl Marx.
A particular friend of Peter’s was Nikolai Ivanovich Voronen,
banished for his political views. Voronen’s dream of politick
action, which would r^lace the reigning bureaucracy with gov-

62

SLAVA BOHU

ernment by the people, did not appeal to Peter. The people, Peter
thought, were not equipped for such responsibilities, were not
sufficiently Christian, were not “true DulAobors.” The solution
was not in changing the government, but in the people learning
to become Dukhobors, “in the Spirit of Christ, and when that
day comes governments will be unnecessary to brotherhood, just
as now they are necessary to evil.” Despite these disagreements,
Peter, Voronen, and all the exiles of Shenkursk shared a decided
antipathy toward the govenunent which held them in exile. Of
all the ideas and theories with which that northern outpost was
pregnant, those of Leo Tolstoy, the count who gave much of
his own land to the peasants, appealed most to Verigin. Tolstoy’s
philosophies reached Verigin secondhand from the mouths of
other exiles, and from books published by Posrednik, an enter-
prising firm issuing publications especially designed to dissemi-
nate the views of this powerful writer who was stirring the
heart of Russia.

The governor of Shenkursk, an admirer of the great in St.
Petersburg, was not pleased with “this peasant, Verigin, who
has much more money to spend than he should have, and whose
house is a den of agitation.” St. Petersburg was so informed, and
an order came in the summer of 1890 for Peter’s removal eight
hundred miles farther north and west to Kola (Murmansk), Lap-
land. He bought his own ticket, left hurriedly on the mail coach
to the White Sea port of Archangel (Arkhangelsk), and from
there sailed on a government ship into the Arctic Ocean to the
northernmost tip of continental Russia in Europe.

Varvara, Peter’s sister, who had come to visit him shortly be-
fore, was thus left in Shenkursk, while her husband Ivan Konkin,
and her brother, Vasili, were in St. Petersburg en route to
Shenkursk. Later, all three managed to obtain permission to go
to Kola.

The chief of police in Kola, Vasili Lukianovich, welcomed
Peter as a ^est. In his yotmger days he had been in Caucasia,
when Lukeria Kalmikova was known to imperial officials for her
hospitality and good looks. Here was someone new to talk with,
someone to revive memories of the flower-scented meadows of
Caucasia, memories which years and the long winter nights of
ice-bound Kola had cooled, but not obliterated. Besides, Peter
had brought a good horse with him. And plenty of rubles ! And
what a fine-looking man he was!

Thus, throughout his two years in Kola, Peter enjoyed more

PETER VASILIVICH VERIGIN

63

freedom than at any time before during his exile. His relatives,
friends, and followers were welcome, and no difficulty was placed
in the way of his messenger service, which, on a miniature scale,
put the Tsar’s secret police to shame. Besides learning to drive
reindeer Peter pursued his studies of redemptionist theories.

Whether word of the leniency accorded him by the chief of
police reached the ears of higher authorities, or whether Peter
petitioned the authorities for a move south — ^he did not like the
long winter darkness — ^is not disclosed in available records. But
in 1892 an order was received at Kola that he be returned to
Shenkursk.

In Shenkursk he formed a Dukhobor household, an Orphans’
Home in exile. Here he reigned supreme amidst a well-regulated
routine. Besides a cook, he engaged two orphan girls and two
boys to look after the horses and cows. The establishment, now
requiring two houses, consisted of the Dukhobors, Obedkoff,
Rebin, Mahortoff, Tsibilkin, Tejebokoff, and their wives, Gregori
Verigin, and his wife. Tejebokoff, Rebin, Matortoff and Tsibil-
kin, together with the wives of the latter three, who had originally
been exiled to Olenetski province, had been granted permission to
move to Shenkursk “so that the exiled brothers and sisters be
allowed to live together in one peaceful family.” That fall, Gregori
Verigin, Peter’s brother, had arrived from Caucasia, bringing
with him Tejebokoff’s wife.

This entire household rose in good time each morning and
carried out a prearranged routine. While the hired help attended
to the livestodc and the making of breakfast, Peter and his
apostles walked for one to two hours. This exercise, Peter advised,
was necessary for a healthy body and a good spirit. Each morn-
ing, gray-haired old Mahortoff fed his flock of twenty geese,
raised offiy as pets ; for Peter, consciously or unconsciously, ab-
sorbing the views of Tolstoy, had inaugurated a strictly vegetarian
diet. Everyone adhered to it with the exception of Voronen, the
political exile, and his wife. They ate their meals at a separate
table. After breakfast, Peter busied himself with wood carving
in a room especially reserved for this work.

In the afternoon he pondered over the New Testament and
the theories of Tolstoy, his own imagination bridging gaps which
appeared to him to exist between the two. His advice to his
foUowers, however, was given in the name of Christ — ^not Tolstoy.
Thus it was not until years later than one of the most astounding
puzzles of Dukhobor history was laid bare.

64

SLAVA BOHU

After supper, throughout the long winter evenings, everyone
congregated to hear religious and pMosophical discussions led by
Peter sitting like a prophet at the head of the table, the yellow
light from the oil lamp above seeming to cast a halo around his
head. The eternal questions: What to do? How to live? Is this
right? Is that wrong? Peter could ask these questions without a
threat to his status of infallibility. “He does not have to ask us.
He knows the answers,” old Mahortoff "would say to Rebin after-
wards. “It is to test our knowledge of the Qiristian way, that he
asks us.” “Da, da, that is true,” Rebin would agree.

“Is it right,” Peter asked one night, “that we should have so
much good food to eat, when many little children in Shenkursk
are himgry? Should we not always divide what we have with the
poor, especially the hungry children?”

Everyone agreed, the political exile, in his enthusiasm so far
forgetting himself as to urge “revolution as sweq>ing as the
len^ and breadth of Russia, which, ousting the tsars forever
from their thrones, would form a government out of true repre-
sentatives of the workers and peasants, which would —

Verigin’s disapproving, almost sneering face at this breach of
etiquette, which was reflected in the stolid faces of the Dukhobors
around the table, cut short Voronen’s impassioned discourse.

“Do you yet not know,” Verigin chastised him, “that all govern-
ments are both bad and unnecessary?”

Voronen might have asked Peter if his wholesale condemna-
tion of governments included the Dukhobor theocracy. He did
not, peri^ps because he knew he and his wife could not live
independently of the Dukhobor menage.

Had Verigin, in his turn, been fraid: by nature, he might have
admitted that he, like a sponge, was absorbing the more recent
philosophy of Tolstoy and wringing it out on his followers’ heads ;
heads impervious to ideas other than those emanating from
Verigin. At this stage of his life, Peter Verigin practiced much
of what he preached. When he accepted the theory “it is wrong to
kill animals for food, because it is wrong to take life, and there-
fore only v^etables and fruits should constitute the diet of hu-
mans,” he abandoned meat for a vegetarian table.

When all agreed that food should be given to the ill-fed chil-
dren of Shenkursk, Peter aimounced his Qiristian plan to alleviate
the condition. Concerning the division of wealth and labor, he
proposed regi^ly to give away a proportion of the money con-
tinually arriving from Caucasia, to spend more time in Ae gar-

PETER VASILIVICH VERIGIN 65

den, and to take the hired help “with us when we go with the
horses for sleigh rides on Sunday. Slava Bohu.”

This evening’s discussion was especially happy, and everyone,
including Voronen, went to bed with a warm heart and a feeling
of great things to come.

That week saw the beginning of a series of biweekly free din-
ners for the underfed Aildren of the town. Substantial meals
they were too, steaming bowls of vegetables cooked in a way to
take anyone’s fancy. All the cabbage and potatoes that a boy of
twelve or a girl of fourteen could eat. They spread the news
around the town, these twenty children, seven years old and up :
“We had all we could eat . . . all vrt could eat, and I didn’t stop
eating imtil I felt like it . . . and frukt which looks like red meat
in a green hide, which had black seeds in it, bigger than sunflower
seeds . . . such a taste like sugar . . . melts in your mouth like
snow; arbus, the tall man with the beard called it ... a very
good man . . .’’ For the first time in their lives they had seen
and eaten watermelon and cantaloupe, which Peter had grown in
his own hotbeds. Peter Vasilivich himself presided at the table,
around which everyone stood while he spoke a psahn. He told
of the benefits of eating vegetables, and that it was wrong to eat
meat because it was wrong to kill animals.

The free dinners, which in a short time had drawn a guest list
of forty children, far from pleased the local priests of the Rus-
sian O^odox Qiurch. The outcome was that the clergy reported
Peter for proselytizing and contaminating the minds of little
children, after luring them into his house by food.

Summoned before the town’s temporal and spiritual authorities,
Peter pleaded not guilty. He had not tried to persuade the chil-
dren away from any religion. He had fed them because they were
hungry. Would Christ luve done otherwise? Would Christ have
him do otherwise? Did not Christ say, “Give to the poor and
thou shalt have treasure in heaven?’’ And was not Christ always
considerate of children who were hungry? But the priests did not
like Verigin any better for a poise which they were unable to
upset, and his artfully smooth manner of passing back to them
the very Scriptures upon which the Russian Orfiodox Church
professed to stand. A crafty priest, who had so far been able to
keq) his temper, now adopted the method of interrogation so
effectively used by Peter:

“Is it true,” began the priest looking at Peter through narrow-
ing q?di^, “that 3mu have been trying to discredit the church by

66

SLAVA BOHU

falsely representing and twisting the teachings of Christ? Answer
me that.”

The priest had in mind four poor families in Shenkursk who
had recently stopped going to church.

“I did not twist the teachings of Christ,” Peter replied with a
growing feeling that he could get the better of the deric. “How
is it possible to distort that which is God’s ? It is not possible for
a man to do such things. That is why I would not accuse you of
doing it.”

Blood rose around the priest’s ears, pulsing red there.

“Be careful what you say, I warn you. You ignorant muzhik.
... You who are here in exile because you incite others to dis-
obey the Tsar, the defender of God’s faith on earth. It was only
his Christian tolerance which allowed you to come here instead
of treating you to the prison and the Imut you deserve.”

As the priest struggled with his temper, Verigin’s feeling of
calm and sainthood increased. Finally the priest mastered his
WTath and professed compassion for Peter’s ignoreince. But the
authorities saw to it that a clerk from the governor’s office sat at
the table with the hungry children of Shenkursk “to make certain
their minds would not be contaminated by heresy.”

CHAPTEE SEVEN

SIBERIA

PETER’S PHILOSOPHIZING, which resulted in the new
way of life for his immediate Dukhoboria, was not restricted to
the little group of exiles in Shenkursk. To make certain his faith-
ful in Caucasia should share in the benefits of his redemptionist
plans, he instructed the people, through his secret messengers,
how they were to live. Thus, some 10,000 followers set about the
task of reorganizing their mass economy, and of adjusting their
personal habits to fit the commands of their ruler.

The exact year in which the Dukhobors began to change their
mode of living is not available because of the secrecy surround-
ing the venture. No written records were made lest they fall into
the hands of imperial authorities. Whether Peter’s initial instruc-
tions reached Caucasia, in 1892, or 1893, was many years later
a subject for argument among the Dukhobors. However, it was
agreed that Peter’s first instructions concerned a redistribution
of material wealth as a means to introducing Christian eqtiiality.

Peter’s “advice” was variously interpreted in different prov-
inces and villages, varying in accord with the understanding and
zeal of local elders. In the Wet Mountains village of Orlovka,
where all the inhabitants were followers of Verigin since the “No-
Dukhobors” had taken exclusive possession of Horelovka, Veri-
gin’s message was for the most part received with joy. The vil-
lagers put about one half their ready money into a general fund
which soon attained the sum of $20,000. All debts were canceled.
The fund, administered by a committee of elders, was for the
use of those in need, who might apply for gifts of money. Besides,
wealthier Dukhobors made individual gifts of livestock and farm
implements to their brothers less well equipped.

In some villages of Kars province, liie order was carried out
in more thoroughgoing fashion, villagers bringing all th^ pos-
sessed to be divided. There were some who held back a few
thousand rubles pretending that they had contributed their last
kopdc. Horses, cows, sheep, ducks, geese and hens were herded
into common enclosures. The women brought articles of clothing,
men their extra pairs of boots, then everything was distributed,

68

SLAVA BOHU

all receiving an equal share. The division was entered into amidst
religious fervor, many “Slava Bohus,” and praises for Peter
Vasilivich.

It was not until the enthusiasm had subsided, and the villagers
were settled down again to mundane routine, ^at catty remarks
came out such as : “You are wearing my petticoat. Don’t forget
that you would not have such a nice rug hanging on your wall,
if I had not been such a good Christian and taken it to the com-
munal center.” Whereupon the woman so reminded would reply
to her benefactor : “Petushka told you to give those things. What
else could you do? He also meant that I should have them. So
I have taken them, and I do not owe you an)^ing, you old
kapha.” Some kulak-minded men suffered regrets that they had
“given away good horses to lazy fellows who will never have
anything because they do not know how to care for an 3 ^hing.”
Such doubts, however, did not assail the majority, or even 5ie
wealthiest, who felt abounding joy and had great faith that they
had taken a step nearer salvation. Moreover, Petushka promised
further advice of an equally soul-cleansing nature in the very near
future.

The wholesale cancelation of debts is the more interesting in
contrast with the attitude immediately prior to Peter’s revelation.
Then, a debtor who could not meet his obligation would get down
on his knees and plead with his creditor : “Do not disgrace me and
my family by canceling the debt I owe you.” (Meanwhile the
creditor would threaten to wipe out the amount which was marked
in chalk above the stove.) “I promise you, I will soon be able to
pay.” Whereupon the creditor, if he were not a “hard man,”
would leave the bookkeeping entry intact, and allow his debtor a
chance to redeem himself. After Peter’s advice, “All debts are
wiped out in our village,” was repeated with pride. Had Peter
Verigin advised that sdl debtors immediately pay their debts or
be driven from the flock, it is likely that the creditors would have
acted in this direction as readily as they did in the opposite.

Peter next advised his followers that they discontinue drinking
TOd^ an d win e. So thoroughly was this enactment carried out,
tBatkegs b£ liquor were opened, and their contents allowed to
flow onto the ground. In a few villages, where the elders had a
deep-seated business sense, it was decided to sell the vodka and
vino to Turks and Armenians and use the money for “Christian
purposes.”

Then Peter advised against the use of tobacco. With some

SIBERIA

69

trepidation the men burned their pipes and cigarettes, and Wet
Mountain women discarded their tobacco pouches, which they
had long kept beneath their aprons. One or two haystacks went
up in smoke as a result of inveterate smokers enjoying a surrep-
titious puff, and there were signs of restlessness and irritability
around the fireside on evenings. A few weak brothers deserted the
flock to join the “No-Dukhobors.”

The next order, to cease eating meat, seriously aflfected the
economy of the people. Meat, especially mutton, was an important
item in the diet of the Wet Mountain people, who, because of
the high altitude and early frosts, were never sure of a grain
crop other than barley. However, the Verigin followers every-
where instituted vegetarianism; mutton and beef disappeared
from their tables, and barley soup became fashionable in the
highlands. Though Peter had said it was wrong to kill animals
and therefore wrong to eat meat, he had said nothing about it
being wrong to raise sheep and cattle for the outside market.
Thus the Dukhobors continued sellii^ livestock to “unchristian
butchers,” using the money to buy vegetables and fruits. A few
more weak brothers left the flock, forming another group in be-
tween the “mad” Dukhobors and the “bad” ones.

It seems that November 4, 1894, was the day on which meat
was removed from the diet^

Barely had Verigin’s followers begun to accustom themselves
to vegetarianism, than he advised them all, married or single, “to
cease copulation during your time of tribulation.” On receiving
this order, a few hundred more left the fold, while the faithful
struggled to abstain from sexual intimacy. The birth rate fell to
a minimum, and women giving birth to children at any time after
a nine-month period immediately following institution of the
advice, were ostracized as sinners. Women known for their ability
to cause abortion were sought in secret by the sinful not wishing
to leave the flock. Marriages became unnecessary.

In fairness to Peter Verigin, it should be stated that he lived
in accord with the instructions he gave his followers. It is unlikely,
however, that he realized the vast difference between his putting
certain conclusions into practice, and of passing on these con-
clusions, virtually in the form of commands, to people who had
given them little, if any, individual thought. The powerful philoso-
phizing of Tolstoy hdped Verigin to decide how to live his life,
and he promptly decided for his followers who, unlike himself,
were not living in semimonastic isolation.

70

SLAVA BOHU

Amid satisfaction, mingled with bolder dreams for the salva-
tion of his followers, Verigin received reports from Caucasia that
the faithful had done well. But by no means had they accomplished
everything. Greater things were to be done in the name of Christ,
probably to be followed by persecution more severe than any
suffered before. As if to forecast things to come, and set example,
he refused to swear oath of allegiance in 1894 to the new tsar,
Nikolai II. “Oaths are both unnecessary and wrong,” he said,
“and I, as one of God’s humble servants on earth, cannot hold
allegiance to anyone but Him.” Threatened with corporeal pun-
ishment by the authorities in Shenkursk, he replied: “It is not
my concern that the government continually disobeys the word
of God by persecuting Christians. If you should strike me, I can
only obey Christ and turn the other cheek.”

Exasperated at Verigin’s impertinence, knowing only too well
that the people of the town were being influenced by this man
who fed hungry children and gave money to the poor, the gover-
nor recommended that he be removed to a place where his per-
sistent insubordination would have less opportunity to affect the
minds of Tsar Nikolai’s loyal subjects. Verigin anticipated his
transfer by dispatching Vasili Obedkoff to Caucasia, with in-
structions that he return with two trusted messengers “before it
is too late.”

When rumors reached the faithful that Peter was on his way
to Siberia, via Moscow, great excitement prevailed. They were
unable to obtain passports for the messengers. Vasili Vereschagin,
using his influence, managed a passport for himself and Vasili
Verigin, Peter’s brother. With Obedkoff they set out for Mos-
cow. Finding no trace of Peter there, they went on to Vologoda,
and finally to Shenkursk, where they found their leader expect-
ing any day to be sent away.

While a bitter November wind whirled snow along the stark
streets of Shenkursk, and howled through the night to rattle the
windows of Peter’s residence, he sat at the head of the table in
the yellow light of the great oil lamp. Bearded face cupped in one
hand, embroidered silk dad elbow resting on the table, he re-
vealed his plan "in the Spirit of Christ” to the three Vasilis.

“We have already decided not to take the life of even the
smallest bird. The time is coming when all true Dukhobors must
show the world it is wrong to own a weapon of any kind, wrong
to be in an army. It will be right for Diikhobors to refuse mili-
tary service of any kind.”

SIBERIA 71

There was awed and tense silence as they waited for him to
go on.

“So my brothers, I truly believe that on Peter’s Day, next
summer, we will all, wherever we may be, gather our weapons
together and burn them. Every rifle, every sword, scimitar and
long knife which a Dukhobor owns, he must destroy in great
fires which the brothers will prepare next June 29. Then every
young man who is on the army reserve list will turn in his
reservist papers to the govenunent. That is my advice. If you
take it, you must remember that Christ said, ‘You may destroy
my body but not my soul.’ ’’

“Such a step,’’ ventured Vasili Veraschagin, “will surely bring
much suffering upon us all.”

“Oh, you of little faith, think not of your bodies when obedi-
ence to God will save your souls. Does it matter if we suffer, if
we die? Does not Christ say that which is bom of the flesh is
flesh; and that which is bom of the spirit is spirit? Pravda, but
I see there are some among us who must be bom again.”

Tears came in Veraschagin’s eyes as he asked forgiveness for
the weakness and doubt within himself. With Vasili Verigin, he
promised never to falter while these things were being brought
about.

Verigin impressed those who would be the messengers with the
need for absolute secrecy. None but a few tmsted elders were to
be told until next summer, while the mass of the people were to
know nothing until the afternoon of the day set for the burning
of the guns.

On a cold gray morning, November 5, 1894, Peter Verigin left
Shenkursk, en route to Siberia. Refusing to ride in the sleigh
with the free Dukhobors who were accompanying him as far as
Moscow on their way back to Caucasia, he chose to walk through
the snow with the moneyless prisoners of the chain.

Peter’s mode of travel made for a slow journey along the two
hundred and fifty miles to the railway at Vologoda. Inside the bare
walls of prison stations, the prisoners cut wood for the stoves on
which they prepared their scanty meals. At night, stretching out
on the floor, they slept, the sweat of those by the stove mixing
with exhausted air from a hundred throats, until by morning
there was a heavy frowziness which seemed to drug even the
hunched form that shivered in its sleep by the frosty crack be-
neath the door. At some of the shelters the chain was held over
for two or three days until more prisoners arrived, or until a

72

SLAVA BOHU

stonn abated. Thus it was almost December when they reached
Vologoda. Peter’s feet were blistered, calloused and frostbitten.
Twice along the journey he had allowed his blisters to be drained,
but steadfastly he had refused to ride in a sleigh with the “free
brothers.” After five days in the overcrowded prison at Vologoda,
the train came, and the men and women of the chain were herded
into it like livestock. At Yaroslav, where the railway crosses the
Volga, they spent four days in prison; then in the train again
and south to Moscow. As this was before the building of the
Trans-Siberian Railway, the prisoners were taken by way of
Moscow, where Peter was put into an underground cell — “beauti-
fied with the blood of crushed parasites,” he described it.

Tolstoy, who was in Moscow, and who had heard of the
Dukhobors practicing vegetarianism, equality of wealth, and non-
violence, learned of the arrival of several peasants said to be en
route to Siberian exile. Learning that one was in Buturski Prison,
he asked permission to visit him. Tolstoy sent Paul Ivanovich
Birukov, one of his followers, to find the Dukhobors who were
not imprisoned. The authorities had no intention of allowing
Tolstoy to see Verigin, whom they suspected was a disturbing
factor among the Dukhobors, just as Tolstoy was a disturbing
influence among the great mass of the Russian people. But they
could not afford bluntly to refuse a request from a man, so highly
regarded that even tsars feared to touch him. However, they did
not prevent his meeting Veraschagin, Vasili Verigin and Obedkoff,
and he eagerly questioned them concerning their way of life and
praised them for practicing the “Christian anarchy” so dear to
his own heart. With that ease which was second nature to them,
the three Dukhobors led Tolstoy to believe that their sect had no
leader, none among them was greater than another; they, indi-
vidually and collectively, as a result of their own reasoning and
inner voice had decided to practice the very things which Tolstoy,
in this phase of his life, advocated so ardently.

Tolstoy, in his enthusiasm, was unaware — ^and the Dukhobors
were careful not to inform him — that Peter Verigin, “suffering
persecution in Buturski Prison,” was the theocratic ruler who had
impressed the sect with Tolstoy’s teaching. He did not even know
Peter Verigin was acquainted with his theories.

“The Dukhobors are a most remarkable people,” he declared
afterwards. “They work with their hands, exploiting no one,
producing more than they consume. They reject authority of both
church and state, acknowledge no human authority, yet live to-

SIBERIA

73

gether peacefully in their conununity with no guidance other
3ian their own reason and conscience. Among these dignified,
confident, yet illiterate peasants is the germination of that seed
sown by Christ himself eighteen hundred years ago.”

Tolstoy who had witnessed the painful failure of Tolstoy colo-
nies, Tolstoy with his faith in the peasant and ardent desire for
quids steps along the highway to truth and salvation, had stumbled
upon a Christian community which was the flesh and blood ex-
emplification of his own teachings, which he himself frankly
admitted he was far from able to attain in entirety.

Now he felt he must see the other Dubhobor, Peter Verigin,
who was to be sent to Siberia. He was informed by the authori-
ties he might see Verigin at nine o’dodc in the evening, before the
train left for the Urals. He waited at the station until eleven
o’dock, and still there was no sign of Verigin. Just before mid-
night Peter was hurried from the prison to the waiting train.
Tolstoy had left to inquire. The beU danged, sparks flew from
the bowl-like engine funnel, the train moved on frosty rails
toward the Ural Mountains. Tolstoy had been outwitted.

While Verigin, with Obedkoif who was always with him, went
on to Siberia, Vasili Verigin and Veraschagin traveled south to
take Peter’s greeting to the Dukhobors and prepare for the great
day next summer when the weapons would be burned.

At Cheliabinsk, 1,500 miles east of Moscow, guards and offi-
dals were rougher with the exiles. When Peter refused to take
down his trousers for a medical examination, because there were
women present, the doctor ordered two soldiers to strip him. At
Tiumen, two hundred miles farther northeast, prison authorities
carried on a petty graft by selling luxuries to those of the pris-
oners who had money. Peter, who was at this time traveling by
post horses, overtook prison chains trudging through the snow on
foot — ^men and women, old and young, footsore and cold, some
weak with himger, others unwell-^^rk-gray patches of humanity
moving slowly northward over the endless snow.

He reached Tobolsk early in February and found the new three-
story prison colder, the lavatory pails leaking and making life
unbearable for the prisoners on the lower floors. Through Sama-
rovak to Berezov. From Berezov, by reindeer now, over the tree-
less frozen tundra to Obdorsk. Almost four months since he and
Vasili Obedkoff left Shenkursk, and they had traveled nearly
3,000 miles.

Obdorsk, the government fur-trade and fishing outpost, where

74

SLAVA BOHU

the River Ob finds the Arctic Ocean. It was two years since a
“rich exile” had come to Obdorsk. The village was astir with
news and rumors which had preceded the newcomers “who have
given ruble tips along the way.” Dimitri, a political exile, was so
anxious for the sight of a new face and news of the outside
world, that it was with difficulty he restrained himself from join-
ing the gaping crowd on the village street. “What sort of a
man is this new one who has been sent to cool his zeal in the
sixty below zero of Obdorsk?” thought Dimitri, standing impa-
tiently at his window, cursing aloud “this God-forsaken country”
where he must stay against his will.

Verigin and Obedkoff got out of their sleigh at the posthouse,
ignoring the villagers who came closer to peer at them. After
reporting to the authorities, Peter looked for a house to rent.
He was directed to a political exile, Sergei, who might give him
information.

Dimitri, unable to stay indoors any longer, went to Sergei’s
house and fotmd his friend and the new exile already in an argu-
ment, about nonviolence.

Sergei, skin stretched like parchment across his lean face, blow-
ing clouds of smoke from his cigarette, pacing the floor like a
pendulum, said, “I tell you, Verigin, it is nonsense! This idea of
nonviolence! It has no basis in fact; it is a chimera of the mind;
it is misleading people into thinking they might gain something
by turning the other cheek . . . the followers of this creed are
forever contradicting themselves, confusing themselves and
others . . . Chepuha. Nonsense.”

Sergei was greatly agitated by this healthy man, who should
know better than to dream Tolstoyan dreams when there was so
much to be done. “Action,” he said getting up again from his
paper-strewn table. “Action is what we need to chmge society.”
His legs clad in deerskin moccasins moved back and forth rest-
lessly.

Sergei now gave Peter little opportunity for rebuttal. Peter sat
there, quietly, as if personifying passive resistance, his gray eyes
beneath their long lashes following Sergei, his black beard hiding
a smile of irony. He tried asking a few questions, but his way of
baiting had no efifect on impatient Sergei, starved for someone
fresh on whom to loose his zeal for revolution. Peter got up. He
was tired, he said. He had had a long journey. He must go now
and make arrangements for the house he would rent. Yes, he
would return some evening.

SIBERIA 75

The door closed behind him. There was silence for a moment,
Sergei sitting with his forehead in his hand.

“Well,” said Dimitri, “he certainly exemplifies his theory of
nonviolence. He is husky enough to have picked you up with one
hand and thrown you through the door. One could feel his ph3reical
strength in the air.”

“He is not servile, seems to be sure of himself,” admitted Sergei,
"sort of sublime superiority, almost patronizing.”

Peters’ bearing had further disturbed the two friends. His
nonviolence — could there be something in it? But how could such
an idea possibly change things for humanity? Political action was
necessary.

Peter rented one of the best houses in Obdorsk, known as
“Governor’s Quarters,” complete with a housekeeper who was as
respectable as she was talkative. For some reason, he sent Vasili
Obedkoff back to Caucasia.

Sergei and Dimitri came often, the discussions lasting far into
the night, Verigin talking with a freedom and a rationalization
of argument which he had not shown in the Shenkursk Dukho-
boria. He now openly spoke of Tolstoy’s philosophy, admitting
this influence, and denouncing technical progress, together with
machinery, as unnecessary for the best life.

“Our dilemma concerning him,” wrote Dimitri in his diary,
“was his complete rejection of education, and of earning one’s
living by using the mind. He prefers physical labor, of course.
Then he goes so far as to reject simple literacy. In his method of
debating, he shows a quick brain. He. might have been a success-
ful lawyer, taking cases which specially interested him. He knows
how to defend his own beliefs, even though he expands them on
and on, apparently oblivious to the fact that he moves into the
realm of the absurd. . . . He knows the New Testament almost
by memory, it being his favorite book. Next to it are Tolstoy’s
books; after that, Nekrasov; also Farar’s two books: For the
Intelligentsia and For the People. He receives two periodicals,
Nadelu (The Week), and Novoslovo (The New Word)."

Sergei and Dimitri had reason to believe that the discussions
in Peter’s house were reaching the ears of the governor. It must
be through Peter’s housekeeper, " ‘the local press’ of Obdorsk,
who would go to extremes to get information . . . listening,
peeping . . . this gossipy housekeeper who could not help but
run to the authorities . . .”

So Peter gave up his small mansion and rented a native-built

76

SLAVA BOHtr

hut by the edge of the village. Here he lived alone, spending much
of his time at woodcraft.

Then came spring. The ice went out of the Ob, and rafts of
logs for next winter’s fuel floated into Obdorsk. The first steam-
boat arrived with wheat, flour, mail, packages of food and
clothes, and the whole village went down to meet the boat. The
liquor vendors who had been so short of vodka that customers
had to wait three, or four days for their pails to be filled, again
did brisk trading. Soon sleigh dogs slept in the sun of the streets,
and tough grass showed green on the brown of the tundra.

Peter built a hotbed and planted cucumbers, a procedure which
greatly interested the villagers. He helped a crippled man move
bricks. He looked for opportunities to help people, the poor
especially, by physical labor, and distributed many silver coins and
some paper rubles. To a fellow who had asked him for money
and then taken it to the liquor store, Peter gave a temperance
sermon when the man again came for money. But after the lec-
ture he gave him some silver.

“The villagers exploit his philanthropy,” wrote Dimitri in his
diary. “For some reason he kept a collection of daggers with
silver-inlaid handles, expensive revolvers, costly rugs and extra
clothes. When one day we teased him about these things not
being consistent with his beliefs, he gave most of them away to
people around the village.”

Peter’s increased reading of books and wider contact with
the other exiles, was reflected in an extended vocabulary evident
in his letters. Now and then he introduced the “We” of tsars,
popes and editorial writers, but his letters throughout show a
studied evasion of direct reference to the plans he sent to his fol-
lowers by secret messengers. All his mail was, of course, opened
and read by the authorities.

To the Dukhobors in Caucasia, he wrote on May 30, 1895 :

To the most beloved brethren and sisters in spirit, who wish to live
according to Ihe commandments of Almighty God and Jesus Christ.
May happiness and peace be throughout your life.

Mysdf through Ae kindness of Almighty God am well and in a
happy state, for which I thank and praise our Heavenly Father. Your
letter i^stmarked 4th March, I received only on May 2. 1 thank you
most sincerdy for your good wishes on the Holy Easter. In verity
Christ has Risen. I recdved your letter later, because here from
Tobolsk die winter roads b^an to spoil about 15th March. The letter
la ng u i shed somewhere; and when the rivers opened, it was delivered

SIBERIA

77

to me; I already wrote to you that I was settled here in Obdorsk,
instead of Berezov. We wrote last fall to the brothers in Elizevetpolsk
concerning immigration, and according to our opinion it is possible
to live there, because the soil is very fertile for vegetables — ever3rthing
grows. We could have formed a small colony, and if only peace and
harmony became universal, we could live in the glory of God. About the
saving of souls, that depends not on place or location or people, but
for each to oneself. The most important tinng in this matter, my most
beloved brothers and sisters, is not to take into account or pay any
attention to the lusts of the flesh of people who are not yet one with
us, but to raise oneself to the highest possible level if we understand
the truth, and if not, with a medc heart appeal to the Almighty God
and beg His aid. Concerning the separation, let not your hearts hurry
you towards that act. Because if other people could make it possible
that the whole world could exist like one large family, and tiiat Al-
mighty God Himself desires ; and in order to reach heavenly paradise,
that condition can be compared to placing a very tall ladder and the
greatest urge of the people would be to directly reach the summit,
some would be able to achieve this through the blessing of the Al-
mighty as well as their desire to attain the summit; others are left in
the middle, a third may even be left on the ground at the base of the
ladder.

Therefore, Brothers and Sisters, we must know not only people
wishing to cUmb to the summit so t^t they could enjoy the surround-
ing world. Seeing that everylWng on this earth is created by the Al-
mighty God, therefore, it is impossible to hate anything except evil
actions ; and to be able to discover for ourselves what is right and what
is evil, we have been given intuition and reason, so we must carefully
and strictly look to our tasks. Again wishing you and all brothers and
sisters spiritual and material happiness and welfare.

Your loving brother in the Spirit of Christ.

PETER.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BURNING OF THE GUNS

. . TO DISCOVER FOR ourselves what is right and what
is evil, we have been given intuition and reason . . If there
is any truth in the world, surely those lines, which Verigin took
from Tolstoy and sent as his own to his followers, are true.

If the results of human struggling through the ages are not as
futile as they sometimes seem; if life is more than a colossal prac-
tical joke exposed in that bizarre motion picture called history,
that record of striving toward hope and stumbling into despair,
that grotesquerie of seeming progress and inevitable catastrophe —
if there is a way out to happiness, surely it might be by each indi-
vidual developing his reason and intuition.

To his followers, Peter Verigin was the substitute for “intu-
ition and reason.” At his order they ceased now to bow politely to
imperial officials. With contemptuous smiles and provoking man-
ner, they explained that they could not pay taxes, nor supply horses
for the governor’s conveyance, nor carry out any of the decrees
of the authorities, “because we are orthodox Christians governed
by God Himself.”

Vasili Verigin, Peter’s brother, who with the other messengers
had talked with Tolstoy in Moscow, was arrested as an agitator
and put in solitary confinement in Mehetski prison, Tiflis. Several
more Dukhobors were arrested, some of whom were sent to penal
battalions for refusing military service.

Only a few trusted elders knew what was to take place on June
29, but all were aware “of something great to happen,” on that
day. Everywhere, evangelical excitement was evident Toward
the “No-Dukhobors,” the “bad brothers,” the attitude of the
faithful became one of boastful superiority. “We are going to
show you what we are made of ; and we will astonish you all,”
they said. And abstinence from normal sexual relations caused in
the veins of the Verigin followers a defiant energy which goaded
yet further their religious zeal.

The “No-Dukhobors,” in fear of “what the ‘mad ones’ will do
to us,” carried a stream of rumors to the authorities, who became
more perturbed.

78

BURNING OF THE GUNS

79

Nakashidze, governor of Tiflis, received reports that the “mad
Dukhobors” intended to attack Horelovka, capture the Orphans’
Home and take back the property which had been awarded to Lu-
keria’s brother. The governor himself decided to visit the Wet
Mountains to ascertain what was going on. In the government
town of Achalkalaki, he met with representatives of those who
were suspicious of their “mad brothers,” but none of the faithful
appeared. When twenty of them were brought against their will
they protested at being “taken captive,” insisting they were “ortho-
dox Christians governed by God Himself. . . . We caimot sub-
mit to pagan authorities st^ in falsehood and deception, nor can
we submit to your laws, because we have our own faith, which
forbids us to accept any kind of government service. We can pay
no taxes, cannot swear allegiance to an earthly tsar, cannot supply
recruits, nor carry out the decrees of local authorities.”

“Who is your leader, the one who caused you to decide all these
things?” asked the governor.

“We have no leader, each one of us decides for himself,” was
the reply. “It is the Christian way. We recognize no authority but
God’s.”

One of the young men, personally known to the governor, was
detained for further questioning after the rest had been dismissed.
“Do you think,” the governor asked, “that you are behaving
wisely and profitably?”

“Who cares now about what is wise and profitable?” the lad
replied. “There is no question of shame in it. We are following
our fate, and we are going to death if necessary. You see that
everything has become tangled and confused ; we ourselves do not
know how it all come about or what will come of it.”

Urged on by the vindictive and fearful who had broken away
from the fold. Governor Nakashidze dispatched soldiers to the
Wet Mountains. There, in the vicinity of Horelovka, on the eve-
ning of June 28, 1895, three hundred Cossacks and several com-
panies of foot soldiers were encamped to protect the lives and
property of those not belonging to the “mad brothers.” While the
main body of Cossacks, their horses saddled, sang about their
camp fires, scouts watched the villages for what was thought
might develop into an armed uprising of the insubordinate
Dukhobors.

By now, the elders in the three provinces had passed on the
word to the mass of the Verigin followers that they must collect
their rifles, swords and scimitars, and bring all their weapons to

80

SLAVA BOHU

certain houses in each village. With such secrecy were these
preparations naade, in the darkness, that the government scouts
surmised the movement to be one of warlike mobilization, and
their conjectures were readily affirmed by the feverish imaginings
of the “No-Dukhobors.”

Away to the south in Elizevetpolsk settlement, where the strife
between the two factions was less bitter, only fifty Cossacks waited
in readiness. Early in the afternoon the elders of the Verigin
followers here had disclosed to a number of the most trusted that
there would be a ceremony somewhere, soon after midnight, and
that much firewood would be required. That is all they knew when
they obediently loaded their wagons with firewood. The loaded
wagons stood horseless in the villages as the sun went down,
elders hinting that the mysterious ceremony would be held first
at one place and then another. These rumors were carried, as was
the intent, to Colonel Seratov, in command of the Cossacks. Thus
while the Cossacks followed many false trails, the elders gave
orders that the teamsters hitch their horses to the wagons and
haul the firewood to the bolshoi meadow by Slavanka, where
Peter’s Day celebrations had always been held. As the huge pyre
was being built, others came with weapons gathered from every
village of the faithful in Elizevetpolsk province.

With quick stealth, word spread among the villagers that as
soon as they should see a red glare in the sky, they should all go
to the fire for the ceremony. Not until they came and saw, did
the majority know the whole secret — ^their weapons were being
burned. The weapons with which men and animals were killed
were to be destroyed forever, as part of Peter’s plan for their
redemption. Slava Bohu!

The Cossacks, seeing the reflection of the flames, converged
on the fire. Colonel Saratov, from his horse, shouted at the
Dukhobors to stop them from massing there, but heedless of his
threats, men, women and children of the faithful streamed across
the fields like moths attracted to a great light.

In Kars settlement the plans were carried out similarly, but
with less difficulty, as the feud between the faithful and the “No-
Dukhobors” was less bitter, and in consequence there were no
Cossacks in the vicinity that evening.

It was in Tiflis province where greatest stealth and maneuver-
ing were required, and there in the treeless Wet Mountains the
making of a rapid fire from manure bricks was assisted by bar-
rels of kerosene. The place selected was above the village of Or-

BURNING OF THE GUNS

81

lovka, on a narrow plateau of flat rock near the ancient caves in
which fugitives and brigands had lived and died throughout Cau-
casia’s checkered history.

Only a few of the most trusted Dukhobors were at the pyre
when, after midnight, an elder threw his sputtering torch at its
base. Flames licked at the kerosene, raced up the sides of the
great pile, to disclose at its top a stubble of muzzle and breech-
loading guns, their barrels pointing to the stars. Eerie shadows
danced on the rocks. The caves of Orlovka, which had seen many
strange sights, seemed to awaken, opening their mouths in black
wonder. Here too, the glare in the sky was the signal for the
faithful to assemble.

Meanwhile, a spy of the opposing faction had informed Gov-
ernor Nakashidze, who was in the adjacent “bad” village of
Horelovka, “what the mad ones are doing.” Thus, Mikhael Hu-
banoff, and other prominent villagers, felt ill at ease for having
called on the troops to protect them. “They meant to attack us, but
seeing so many soldiers here, they decided, out of malice, to bum
their guns. Praise God your soldiers were here.”

Governor Nakashidze, believing this story, sent a dozen Cos-
sacks to all the villages of the “mad Dukhobors” to bring the
heads of the households to Horelovka. They, of course, were
either at the fire, or on their way to it, and finding no one at
home, except babies and the aged, the sergeant in charge of the
party sent two of his men to inform the governor, wMle, with
the others, he rode toward the fire.

A succession of musket shots echoed flirough the mountains.
“Postoi! Wait!” the sergeant cautioned, “possibly the Duldio-
bors are attacking. Spread out in the shelter of the rocks and
ride forward carefully.”

Riding closer he saw about 2,000 men and women standing in
the glare of the fire. All were singing a psalm. Some of the burn-
ing guns had charges of powder and shot left in them and now
of themselves they fired their last rounds like Frankenstein salvos.

But the Cossack sergeant still was dubious. “Maybe there is
a trick in it One man, Eroshka, will ride closer with me. The
rest of you stay back and cover us.”

Approaching the edge of the assembly, he shouted, but the
singing Dukhobors paid no attention.

“W^t are you doing here?” he shouted again, annoyed with
being ignored. “What are you doing here, I ask you I” He tapped
old Mahortoff on the shoulder with his whip.

82

SLAVA BOHU

MahortofE stepped back from the assemblage, smfled sardoni-
cally and bowed. “We decided,” he said, with zeal in his eyes, “to
serve only one God and not to do any harm or any violence to
anyone. We are not like you, we would not kill even the smallest
birds. Therefore we are destroying our weapons so that other
people, who are not yet Christians, will not be able to use them
to do violence to animals or men.”

“You old fool, you are mad. Are all of you crazy? Who is in
authority here?”

“We have no one in authority,” replied Mahortoff. “We are
all equal.”

“If you know what is good for you, you had better tell the
heads of every household that the governor commands each one
to appear before him immediately.”

“As you wish. I will make known your message to the brothers.”

Mahortoff disappeared into the assemblage. The singing
stopped. There was much whispering among the men and women
who, nevertheless, lived up to their parts and outwardly con-
tinued to ignore the presence of the Cossacks. From out of the
heart of them came a voice in measured tones: “You may tell
the governor that we must first finish our ceremony before God.
After that, if he wishes, we will all go to see him.”

“Who is speaking? Ck>me out here so I can see you,” said
the sergeant.

“Ni^evo, no matter,” a voice answered. “It is not necessary to
see any one of us when we are all holding to the same decision.”

“You are making a mistake in behaving like this,” shouted
the sergeant. “I warn you . . .” but his voice was drowned in the
rising waves of a psalm. The fire settled, sending a shower of
sparks into the darkness.

“Such people,” the sergeant shrugged to Eroshka ; “what can
you do with them? It is not for us to decide.”

They turned their horses and rode into the shadows.

When Grovemor Nakashidze heard the report, his face became
white and his thin lips compressed in anger.

“Captain Praga,” he said to the Cossack commander, “at sun-
rise, t^e two hundred of your men and bring those holy ones
to me. If necessary, use your whips!”

Cossack whips! A steel core around which is wound gut the
thickness of a finger. Wooden handles, leather-covered. Lash tips
loaded with lead.

When the sun rose over the mountains the Dukhobors still

BURNING OF THE GUNS

83

stood in ceremonial formation. They had eaten nothing, and emo-
tional strain added to their fatigue. The flaming pyre had burned
down to a heap of glowing embers; the twisted metal of the
guns was gray as ashes.

The notes of a psalm floated toward him, as Captain Praga,
with his two hundred horsemen, spread out along the little
plateau.

“Give them a chance to come voluntarily,” he shouted. “Ser-
geant, ride to them and make known our last orders.”

The double row of horses tossing their heads, lines of tall hats
moving in unison with the exdt^ motion of the horses. This
array was too much for even the Dukhobors. Instinctively they
herded closer. The singing became less — ^then ceased abruptly like
the last notes of frogs in a pond.

“Captain Praga,” said Ae sergeant returning, “they say that
they do not want any trouble, but still they must first finish their
ceremony before God — ^then all will go to the governor.”

“Oh, they will, will they?” Praga’s jaw tightened. “Then it
is our duty to drive them to the governor. Urahl” He waved on
his men, his own horse, spurs in its flanks, Imging forward.

Had the Dukhobors wished to run, there was nowhere to go.
At one side was a steep incline, at right angles was the fire, and
behind it a wall of rode. Packed in a tight group, they stood their
ground, eight hundred hoofs pounding toward them. Soon they
must be trampled and pushed into the canyon below. But no, as
if influenced by something more powerful than their riders, the
horses came to a sliding stop, so close to the crouching outer e<^e
of men that they could feel the excited breathing of the animals.

Surprise crossed the faces of the horsemen. A bugle blew, and
wheeling arotmd they rode back to charge again.

The bugle blew. “Urah!” Loose reins. Thundering hoofs.
Whips flashing in the stm. This time they would move Sie “holy
ones” or break their bones. But again, with the grating noise of a
rockslide, the animals braced themselves at the edge of the as-
semblage.

In fury, the Cossacks swung their whips, now at the horses,
now at the Dukhobors. Beshmeti ripped from the backs of
Dukhobor men. Shawls flew in tatters from the heads of women.
The riders opened their ranks to allow the Dukhobors to move
toward the defile leading down from the plateau. Like an ebb
tide, men and women flowed over the rocks and down the green
hillside; retreating, their code forbidding retaliation. Stubborn

84

SLAVA BOHU

courage, hearts pounding, backs bleeding beneath the blows and
curses; on down to the roadway below, where Governor Naka-
shidze was waiting in his carriage. Here Praga called a halt,
ordering the Dukhobor men to remove their caps in respect to the
governor.

There was heavy silence. No heads were bare excq)t those hav-
ing lost their caps on the way.

“Dukoborske mushiki, remove your caps !” he roared at them.

A voice from the tattered assemblage replied, “We see no one
here for whom we should take off our caps. If someone arrives to
greet us, then we will greet him in our Christian way.”

“You will take off your caps because I tell you . . . because
the governor is here. Cossacks ! Cut those caps from their heads.”

A whip lash wound around Nikifor’s head, the lead weight
dazing him. He held up his hands to protect his bleeding face.
The lead, swinging down again, smashed his knuckles. He sank
to the ground, the whip lash darting like a snake at his face
and tearing an eye from its socket. Felled to the ground, he lay
unconscious, his cap still on. And near-by brothers — warding off
the blows with their arms — ^reached out and dragged him toward
them, passing him on into the center of the crowd.

This process went on as in an ant hill, the wounded and broken
being passed inside to the heart of the assemblage, and fresh
Dukhobors appearing on the outer edge. This calculated and stub-
born resistance further enraged Praga and his men, who swung
their whips in frenzy.

In a furious assault they tried to drive themselves into a wedge
and scatter the Dukhobors. Blood spurted from the backs of men
and women. Old Mahortoff’s beard was crimson. Red streaked
the horses’ bellies, and the grass was wet The air filled with beast-
like cries, steamed in sickening odor.

A bugle blew and the whips ceased to flail. Except for sobs
and groans there was silence.

Angry yet fearful. Governor Nakashidze stood on the steps of
his carriage. “Have you learned to obey? Will you hold allegiance
to the Tsar, and behave as all good people do . . , behave as
these people here,” indicating several anti-Verigin Dukhobors who
were there, and who stood back a distance to make certain they
could not become confused with the “mad brothers.”

“Be good like them?” a Dukhobor replied contemptuously.
“Thqr who stole the money and property which should have be-

BURNING OF THE GUNS 85

longed of us all? Obey the government which sends our true
brothers to harsh Siberia and the penal battalions . .

“And now wants us to join the army to kill people,” added
another.

Governor Nakashidze’s lips trembled with rage at this per-
sistent subordination. They asked for still more punishment.

“Captain Praga, teach these . . .”

But two young men came forward to his carriage, handing him
neatly folded papers.

Nakashidze felt relieved. Perhaps some of these people had
thought better. Could these papers be written apologies? As he
unfolded them, his face showed surprise, then disappointment
and finally anger.

When several more Dukhobors, cut and bleeding, approached
his carriage and flung their military reservist papers at his feet,
he lost his reason.

“Praga, order your men to unsling their rifles! Two rounds
may teach these people a lesson.”

Count Krospinski, fresh from St. Petersburg and sickened by
the sight of blood, could not restrain himself from interfering.
As the Cossacks put their rifles to their shoulders, he drew his
sabre.

“You order Praga to fire,” he warned the governor, “and I
will cleave your head in two 1”

Nakashidze hesitated, and with mixed feelings ordered that
the Cossacks sheath their rifles. Annoyed at public reversal of
his command, he was relieved that he had not assumed a des-
perate responsibility.

“Captain Praga,” he said with an effort, “I leave you in
charge. See that they go immediately to their villages. They must
obey, you must make them obey. If they still refuse, punish them
as you see fit. Insubordination such as this must not be allowed
to spread through the empire. You will quarter your men in
their homes.” Shaken, the governor left the scene.

About noon, the faithful, in a state of fearful exhaustion,
reached their villages.

The burning of ffie guns in Elizevetpolsk and Kars settlements
was attended with less brutality. In Elizevetpolsk when Colonel
Seratov saw that the villagers continued running to the fire in
spite of his warnings, he arrested twenty-three men whom he
believed were ringleaders. The zeal of the Dukhobors, rising with

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SLAVA BOHU

the mounting flames, made for stubborn resistance, though they
remained true to their code of nonviolence amidst occasional whip
lashings from Cossacks, When the young men who were on the
army reserve list came forward to turn in their reservist papers,
the county attorney lost his temper. Slashing to left and right
with his fists, he pushed his way into the center of the assemblage.
“You know neither God nor Tsar. You have not the courage of
dogs,” he reviled them. Later when he emerged, disheveled from
the crowd, not a Dukhobor had retaliated.

“We believe as Christ said,” one of them shouted. “Do unto
others as we would have done unto ourselves.”

When the sun rose there were bruised faces, and eighty of the
faithful had been arrested. Those who remained free returned to
their villages. They were martyrs to Christ, “and if it had not
been for Ae Katelnikoff family, who headed the ‘bad ones,’ the
Cossacks would not have come, and the true brothers would not
have been taken away to prison.”

In Kars settlement, old Ivan Ivanovich Osachoff was the hon-
ored elder who touched his torch to the fifteen four-horse wagon-
loads of wood of which their pyre was built. On a hill with a
flat top above the Karseina River, the flames rising in the night
pointed the way to the faithful, who left their villages and hur-
ried across the fields. There they assembled in ceremonial fashion
about one hundred and fifty feet from the fire, “so we will not be
thrown into the flames if the soldiers come to persecute us.”

The inhabitants of the neighboring Turkish and Armenian vil-
lages, who had heard many rumors, and who knew “something
was about to happen,” saw the glare in the sky, and, unable to re-
strain their curiosity, they cautiously set out toward the rise of
land above the river. Halfway, and before they could properly
discern the confused mass of humanity in the shifting light of
the flames, they stopped in wonder at “the sound of cannon fir-
ing.” When these boomings, which the older ones had not heard
since the war, were followed by a desultory volley of musket
shots, speculation as to what was happening on the hill rose to
fever pitch, and Mussulmen were moved to tears for the Qiris-
tian Dukhobors. More cautiously now, the audience of some three
hundred men and women moved forward in the hope of finding
themselves gallery seats not exposed to the soldiers of the Tsar.
The rising and falling of a Dukhobor psalm reached their ears,
and as they crept still closer thqr could see the Dukhobors stand-
ing in orderly fashion. Where were the dead and dying? Where

BURNING OF THE GUNS

87

were the soldiers ? Allah be praised, they had not all been killed !

Puzzled and slightly disappointed, the spectators later discov-
ered that the “cannon firing” was unintentionally simulated by
gunpowder which the Dukhobors had consigned to the flames
with their rifles and swords.

When the red embers of the fire turned to gray with the first
rays of dawn, and the Dukhobors paused in their ceremony, the
bolder came doser, and soon all the Turks and Armenians heard
why the guns had been burned. With such persuasive zeal did the
Dukhobors instruct their visitors in the creed of nonviolence, that
even the followers of Mohammed felt constrained to agree. How
indeed could there be peace on earth unless everyone refused to
have firearms, refused to fight in an army, refused to fight with
swords, whips, sticks, feet, fists? And how was everyone to stop
being evil, unless some men showed the way?

“This we are doing,” said a Dukhobor. “We are showing the
way. Someday everyone will follow.”

“Even if first we have to go to our death,” said an elder, with
tears in his eyes.

“And now when we have shown you the way by burning all
our guns,” added a practical woman, “I hope your people will
become good Christians and stop stealing our ducks at night.”

“Nichevo, no matter,” said another. “Soon we may have no
need for ducks, nor for feather beds. I tell you truly we do not
know what God has in store for us.”

A young Turk, not imbued with the “new spirit,” recalled a
silver-mounted pistol which he had seen in a Dukhobor home. His
black eyes looked yearningly at the twisted metal in the fire.

“Why could you not have given some pistols to us, instead of
wasting them?”

Before a Dukhobor could answer this untimely question the
lad was reprimanded by an older Mussulman in an enormous sheep-
skin hat which had seen many summers.

“You young fool,” he admonished, “you do not understand
that these people do not want anyone to use those guns. That is
why they burned them. Understand?” And by way of demon-
strating his newly acquired understanding of nonviolence, the
old one kicked at the boy, who displayed his alacrity by jumping
out of reach.

After a consultation, it was decided that the young men should
take their military reservist papers to County Governor Birakov,
who was a Tartar by lineage and a philosopher by inclination. He

88

SLAVA BOHU

listened to their protests and said, “You may go home. Your
reservist papers I must send to higher authorities, and as they
decide, so it will be with you. It is not in my power to pass sen-
tence for actions with which, if you believe in them, I cannot
quarrel.”

Indisposed to Birakov’s lenient view, the governor of Kars
province sent Cossacks to arrest ringleaders. In a few days there
were fifteen Dukhobors on their way to imprisonment in the city
of Kars.

One young zealot, who had turned his reservist papers in to
Birakov, felt badly that he too was not suffering as were his
brothers in prison. Consequently he approached Birakov.

“Sir,” he said, “I do not wish to obey the Tsar and all his
powers, and never again will I obey his commands. I will not
fight in the army, nor kill anyone. Slava Bohu !”

“Anything else?” asked Birakov.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“Is there an3?thing else you wish to tell me?”

“There is nothing, I wish only to live peacefully in the Spirit
of Christ.”

“Then go home and do so as long as you can,” advised Birakov.

In a few days the young zealot returned to go through the
same conversation. When he came for the third time, Birakov
sent him home with two Cossacks who whipped him to his village.

CHAPTER NINE

UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD

IN THE WET MOUNTAINS, Captain Praga’s Cossacks,
quartered in the villages of the faithful, behaved in a manner
customary to a mob of soldiery given free rein in enemy territory.
Patriotic duty excused a month of feasting, floggings, and rapine
sufficient to satiate even hard-boiled Captain Praga to a point
where later he committed suicide.

Ringleaders among the Wet Mountain Dukhobors were thrown
into prison or sentenced to penal battalions, but still they refused
military service and rejected the authority of the government.
St. Petersburg, troubled with anti-imperial agitation from Vladi-
vostok to the Ukraine, was convinced insubordination must be
crushed lest it undermine the morale of peasant conscripts through-
out the empire.

St. Petersburg commanded that the Wet Mountain Dukhobors
obey, or be exterminated. Thus, o n Tu^y 8. 1895. in accord with
the Imperial decree, thirty-five families were forced from their
homes and trekked one hundred miles northwestward into exile.
Within two weeks, four hundred and thirty-nine more families,
under police escort, were moving through the Caucasian Motm-
tains to the valleys of Signak, Dushet, Tionet, and Gori districts.
En route, Kiril Konkin was flogged to death, but more than 4,000
men, women and children, in about eight hundred wagons reached
exile in fever-ridden swamps not far from the railway line to
Batum.

Here the plan of the government seemed calculated to force
them to abandon their way of life. They were not allowed to
settle on land ; nor were the Georipan landowners allowed to rent
land to them. They might work on the estates, but there was not
enough work to support them. Soon they suffered from under-
nourishment, malaria, dysentery, and the effects of a roving life.
In an effort to conceal the affair, the government rigidly censor ed
r eports concerning them .

When word of Aeir plight reached Count Leo Tolstoy, he was
incensed. Barred from the press of Russia, he turned to that of
England. He dispatched Paul Birukov to Caucasia to gain infor-

SLAVA BOHU

90

mation. On October 23, 1895, an account of the Dukhobors by
Birukov, vouched for by Tolstoy, Thf (Lon-

don). Mainly from Tolstoyan sources, news and views of the per-
secution appeared in print in Russia, despite the censorship, with
the result that an army general was appointed to “hear the Duk-
hobors’ statement ... to explain to them the error of their ways,
and to offer restoration of land and property to those who would
take the oath of allegiance and comply with conscription.” He
summoned Dukhobors to appear before him, and went so far as
to commend their pacifist views; he, too, would like to see wars
cease and all men live together in Christian brotherhood. “The
time,” he added, “has not yet come, and the army is still necessary
for the protection of peaceful men and women.”

But the faithful, echoed the words of Peter Verigin, “The
time has come for us.”

Though the Dukhobors of Elizevetpolsk and Kars, who had
not been exiled en masse, were refused passports out of Caucasia,
secret messengers continued to traverse the 2,000 miles to Verigin
in Obdorsk. The first man to leave Caucasia after the burning of
the guns was Mikhael Androsoff, who had a passport issued prior
to the burning of the guns, and which was marked good for one
year an 3 rwhere in the empire. He left his village in August and
went to the village of Terpani where members of the Verigin
family now lived. After consulting with them, he went on to the
city of Kars where his own brother, Peter, was in prison, together
with Vasili Verigin, Vasili Verasdiagin, and several others. Re-
fused permission to see them, he attempted to return at night, to
find out in which part of the prison they were. When he was
discovered, he pleaded that he be allowed to leave unmolested.

“So I was not arrested,” Androsoff wrote in an account of his
adventure. “Next morning early, I went to the jail again. The
prison stood on a hill with a deq) valley to cross, the soldiers con-
tinually walking back and forth in front of the cells. Managing
to crawl past Ae guard I called quietly, Vasili !’ It was Vasili
Verigin’s cell. His face came to the window, and I could recognize
him though it was still dark.”

Vasili told Androsoff how best to reach Peter in Siberia, and
asked him to tell Peter that everyone was true to his Christian
advice. Then Vasili Verigin told Androsoff to walk west three
windows to the cell of Vasili Verasdiagin.

Returning to his village, he entered it at night so that Gubeyev,
the Georgian starosta, might not know he Imd been away. “At

UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD

91

home I had everything ready for my long journey, only my wife
and four elders knew. On October 17, 1 said fareweU to my family,
the children sensing something wrong, my oldest son and daughter
trying to find out what was happening, but my wife wouldn’t tell
them. My wife came with me to the back 3 ?ard, and my team was
hidden just outside the village.”

He set out in the wagon for the village of Terpani, once more
to visit the Verigins, get their final greetings to Peter, and pick
up the gold rubles for him. “Near Terpani, I got off and walked,
while the wagon went on, by a different road.” The Verigins sent
Semon Chemoff with Androsoff to show him the way as far as
Tiflis. As the two were leaving the village “a man came running
with frightened eyes and said, T have heard you are going to
Siberia, to Petushika. Please t^e him this gold coin from me.’
I took the five rubles, asking him, ‘Who told you ?’ but he would
not say. So Semon and I went on to Alexandropol. There at the
postyard, I asked if they would hire me a team. They said, ‘Why
not go on the mail coach leaving in two hours ?’ ”

By coach Androsoff and Chemoff went to Akstafa, then by
train to Elizevetpol, arriving there that night. In the morning
Androsoff got inside Elizevetpol prison where he saw Ivan Veri-
gin. Ivan said, “If you are able to get to my brother in Siberia
give him my greetings and tell him that no one of us is weaken-
mg.

Androsoff and Chemoff then went on to Tiflis where thq?^ found
Ivan Evin and Vasili Obedkoff. Obedkoff, Peter’s faithful man
Friday, was at this time stationed in Tiflis to advise the secret
messengers how best to reach the mler in Siberia. On the advice
of Obedkoff, Androsoff went on to the Black Sea port of Batum,
and parting from Chemoff there, he boarded a steamer for
Novorossisk. On the ship Androsoff felt lonely, did not like the
motion of the boat “in a terrific storm,” but “enjoyed the apples”
Chemoff had given him at Batum.

At Novorossisk, he bought a ticket. “On the train I met a man
from Petropavlovsk who was going to a monastery on the other
side of Omsk, to pray for his soul.” The pilgrim told Androsoff
that he must travel “from monastery to monastery and pray and
pray, thus, in such a manner, can a person be sure his sotd will
enter heaven.” The pilgrim admitted he should go on foot, but the
monasteries were far apart!

Androsoff undertook to correct the pilgrim in his religious
error. “I understand it differently. I thi^ it is not necessary to

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SLAVA BOHU

go to these monasteries, it means extra expense, and you are only
giving money to people who live in them like princes, eating up
the labor of other people.” Each man should pray to God for
himself, said Androsoff, and each man should decide for himself
what is right instead of listening to priests and monks who are
looked upon as holy, and kept in idleness. At Cheliabinsk, they said
good-bye.

Androsoff then hired a troika and drove three days northward,
bought himself a “good fur coat,” and “caught a ride with two
men in a sleigh, then took the mail couch to Tobolsk.” From
Tobolsk to Berezov he drove six days and six nights in a sleigh
by post horses. At Berezov he was detained two weeks by the
police before he slipped out at night in a hired sleigh. In a storm
the driver lost his way. While trying to find the road on foot,
they stumbled on the home of an Ostyatse, the Eskimo-like natives
of the tundra. “One of them hitched up a light sleigh with a rein-
deer, and we found the road and went on with a dog ahead of us.
When da\vn came we met another native with a pair of reindeer,
and my driver hired these reindeer, hitching them to our sleigh.”

Traveling night and day with changes of reindeer, Androsoff
reached Obdorsk. No sooner had he found Peter’s house and given
him greetings, than Androsoff was arrested and taken to the police
station. Then Peter came to the police station and arranged that
Androsoff should be let out to go to his house for dinner. Thus
was Androsoff able to give Peter the few hundred rubles he had
brought, relate about the burning of the guns, the imprisonment,
harsh exile and persecution of the brothers. Peter was very inter-
ested, asking many questions, and saying how it was necessary to
suffer with Christ, though no one could harm a soul, but only
a body. “Let three persons come to me in the next summer,” Peter
said. He looked at Androsoff's felt boots, saying they were not
very warm. Peter took his boots from his feet and made Androsoff
put them on. Secreted in those boots was a letter to the Dukhobors
in Caucasia. Dinner was no sooner finished than the police magis-
trate came.

“Get ready,” he told Androsoff, “you are going bade.”

They walked to the police station and there were the three rein-
deer lying in the snow. “Look, they are waiting for you,” said
the magistrate. And Milchad Androsoff set out for Caucasia, to
reassure the faithful in their suffering for Christ.

After delays and short stays in prisons along the way, he
reached home. The advice which Peter had sent with him, that the

UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD

93

faithful hold out against obeying the government at all costs, was
relayed to every village in die Elizevetpolsk and Kars districts,
and then carried north to the Wet Mountain exiles in the valleys
of Dushet, Gori and Tionet.

By th e spring -of 1896 . more than one hundred of the 4,300
exiles had di^ of malnutrition, fever and dysentery. The local
state and church authorities refused to allow them to bury their
dead in the cemeteries, and the Dukhobors, having no land of
their own, sometimes carried the bodies from place to place until
a Georgian noble or peasant would allow them to bury the corpse
in a private garden.

Some of Ae Georgians exploited the Dukhobors, refused to
pay even the small wages agreed upon and stole their ill-fed horses
and their few wagons. Other Georgians took pity on them, sym-
pathized with them, and surreptitiously allowed them to plant
crops of vegetables. To add to the misery of semistarvation, the
exiles, when they had shelter, lived in crowded huts, lacking ven-
tilation and fuel. Had they not received money for food from the
Kars and Elizevetpolsk Dukhobors, starvation coupled with gen-
eral debility might have reduced their numbers by one-third in
the first year of their exile.

Kars and Elizevetpolsk faithful of military age continued to be
imprisoned or sent to penal battalions. In the Ekaterinograd penal
battalion, it was customary to flay the prisoners with thorn bram-
bles. The men to be “disciplined” were made to lie flat on their
bellies while guards gave each one thirty strokes. At each stroke
the thorns entered the prisoner’s back, and with a deft movement
the guard pulled his bramble whip so that the thorns tore away
stress of flesh. To prevent blood poisoning, alcohol was poured
in the wounds which were washed out with brushes made of hair.
After that the sufferers were confined to underground cells for a
day. On the day following, rifles were put into their hands, and
they were asked to drill. If they refused, the floggings were
renewed.

Among the Dukhobors in Ekaterinograd battalion was Mathew
Lebedeff who had been arrested after the burning of the guns in
Kars district. When Anton Fofanoff obtained permission to visit
hitn with food, Mathew was greatly concerned because he had once
accepted a rifle. “My heart is very sore,” he said, “that I could not
hold out against the whole of the punishment.” He begged Anton
to take this confession to all the brothers and sisters and to his
mother.

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SLAVA BOHU

In August, Mikhael Sherbinin died as a result of floggings
suffered in the penal battalion gymnasium.

On November 1, Tolstoy wrote to the commander of the Eka-
terinograd penal battalion concemmg “the confinement in your
battalion of the Caucasian Dukhobors who have refused military
service.

“The military authorities, who have condemned them, and you,
who are executing on them the sentence of the court, evidently
regard the conduct of these men as harmful, and believe in the
efficacy of those severe measures which are directed against them.
But there are people, and many — to whose number I also belong —
who regard the conduct of the Dukhobors as great heroism, most
useful for humanity. In this light, such conduct was regarded by
the ancient Christians, and similarly it is, and will be, regarded
by true Christians of the new time.”

Tolstoy went on to say that he realized the commander could
not correct the mistakes of higher authorities, but, while there were
duties of office to be fulfilled, he was also faced with duties not
temporal but eternal. Warning him of God’s law "which not only
forbids us to kill and torture each other, but enjoins us to help
and love each other,” Tolstoy wrote of “rebukes of conscience”
which would leave Ihe commander of the penal battalion neither
possibility of joy nor peace, and implored him to do all he could
to alleviate the suffering of the martyrs in his battalion.

From then on, it is said, the commander was less harsh.

That autumn, the imperial government issued an order that
those who refused military service because of their religious be-
liefs, should no longer be sluawn the error of their ways in military
places of detention. The authorities had discovered that the ideas
of the zealots were affecting other prisoners. Now the fate of
recalcitrant recruits varied with the whim of local governors, but
floggings and exile continued.

Despite all efforts of censorship, news of the Dukhobors’ stub-
born resistance in the face of imperial brutality, continued to leak
^out. Thus the authorities expelled from Caucasia several S 3 rmpa-
thizers and missionaries who were counted as meddlesome agi-
tators.

Soon after this, on December 12, 1896, three Tolsto 3 ^ns pub-
lished a pamphlet concerning the “terrible cruelty now being
perpetrated in Caucasia.” This appeal for funds with which to aid
the Dukhobors, was vouched for in an accompanjdng letter by
Leo Tolstoy who saw in the Dukhobors the flesh and blood

UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD

95

exemplification of Christian anarchy so dear to his own heart at
fcis time. He pictured the Dukhobors and their Christian martyr-
dom as an example and an event of the greatest importance in
the world, beside which the decrees of emperors, the deliberations
of parliaments, and the influences of universities, “papal encycli-
cals, socialist congresses, and so on,” paled into insignificance.
These simple and illiterate peasants, the Dukhobors, had, of their
own volition, he said, elected to live their lives in accord with the
teachings of Jesus Christ, had actually accomplished that which
other men only talked about. From his distance, Tolstoy saw in
the Dukhobors “the resurrection of Christ himself.” Urging peo-
ple everywhere to help lest this Christian awakening be stamped
out, he flailed “the obduracy and blindness of the Russian govern-
ment, in directing against flie ‘Christians of the Universal Broth-
erhood’ a persecution like those of pagan times.”

Neither Tolstoy’s conclusion nor Ae appeal contained a sug-
gestion of the Dukhobor theocracy, nor was the name of Peter
Verigin mentioned, because neither Tolstoy nor any of the Tol-
stoyans were aware, at this time, that Verigin had absorbed Tol-
stoy’s philosophy, and that, posing as Christ himself, he had passed
it on to his credulous followers.

The appeal left the impression that each simple peasant, each
Dukhobor, had of his own accord, guided only by his reason and
intuition, in the Spirit of Christ, decided to abandon tabak, vodka,
meat and soldiering; and stay with their convictions in the face
of terrible persecution. “By general resolution they fixed on the
night of the 28th of June for the purpose of burning their
arms ...” ran the appeal.

Small wonder that Protestant Christians, idealists, liberals and
intellectuals were roused in sympathy for Dukhobors by this pres-
entation designating them as the highest living example of both
Christian anarchy and Christian democracy in practice. “Behold,”
wrote Tolstoy in all sincerity, “such people exist !”

Peter Verigin and the Dukhobors made no attempt to enlighten
their new-found sympathizers and supporters concerning the se-
crets of Dukhobor government. Imperial authority was so discred-
ited by all but its own bureaucracy that, had it possessed definite
proof of the Dukhobor theocracy, it would not have been believed.

The three Tolstoyans who signed the appeal, Paul Birukov,
John Tregubov, and Vladimir Tchertkov, went to St. Petersburg
to present Tsar Nikolai II with a petition on behalf of the Duk-
hobors. They were not allowed to see the Tsar; their papers and

96

SLAVA BOHU

books were seized. Birukov and Tregubov were banished to the
Baltic provinces, while Tchertkov was given the choice o£ a similar
sentence, or of exile from Russia. He chose the latter, leaving for
England, where, with Tolstoy’s approval, he published a booklet,
Christian Martyrdom in Russia^ in which the Dukhobors were
extolled as “always truthful in their speech, accounting all lying
as a great sin.”

Tolstoy endorsed these statements. “The facts related in this
appeal,” he wrote, “composed by three of my friends, have been
repeatedly verified, revised, and sifted ; the appeal itself has been
several times recast and corrected; everything has been rejected
from it which, although true, might seem an exaggeration; so
that all that is now stated in this appeal is the real, indubitable
truth, as far as the truth is accessible to men guided only by the
religious desire, in this publication of the truth, to serve God and
their neighbors, both the persecuted and the persecutors.”

The publication in English, with a preface by John Kenworthy
of the Brotherhood Church (London), aroused the s)mipathy of
persons in England and the United States. Money with which to
alleviate suflFering among the exiles was sent to Tchertkov’s Tol-
stoyan headquarters in England.

An Englishman, Arthur St. John, ex-army captain, of pacifist
sympathies, was dispatched to Caucasia, where he managed to stay
among the exiles long enough to distribute material aid. Then he,
too, was arrested and banished from Russia.

The local authorities in Kars and Elizevetpolsk provinces had
been instructed that no Dukhobor be allowed to leave his vilk^e
without a permit. Few permits were issued and those only for
short distances. This order, however, accompanied though it was
by threats of jail, flogging and exile, failed to stop Dukhobor
messengers from crossing the breadth of Russia to visit their ruler
in Siberia.

One of these intrepid messengers, Ivan Paramonivich Abrosim-
off, was a year en route from Caucasia to Siberia and back. In
May of 1896, he left his village with two hundred and fifty rubles,
part of whidi he was to use for expenses, the remainder to be
given to Peter. With little difficulty, he crossed the Ural Mountains
and in June reached the Siberian village of Samarovsk. There
he waited two days for a ship to take him north down the river.
Fearing arrest if he tarried long, he hired a boatman in the vil-
lage. While he was eating a meal before setting out, a police

UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD 97

officer, who had arrived from the south in a government river ship,
questioned him as to his passport.

“What? You have no papers? Then I must arrest you,” said
the officer.

“Well,” said Ivan, “If you wish to arrest me that is your busi-
ness. But I have done nothing to deserve being put in prison, and
I do not want to trouble the government when it is not necessary.”

All that Ivan would reveal to the officer was that his home was
in Caucasia, and that he was “on a journey.” When further ques-
tioning failed, the officer took Ivan’s money amounting to two
hundred and thirteen rubles and twenty-one kopeks, and put him
in the kutiizka, the one-room jail where “the bedbugs were as many
as ants in an anthill. ... I was unable to sit down in one place
because of the parasiti biting me.”

In the morning he was put on board a government boat bound
down the river for Tobolsk. He was allowed five rubles of his own
money to supplement the regulation food allowance of four kopeks
a day. Each time the boat stopped along the eleven-day journey,
“the guards were changed, but I could see no way to escape to
the shore. The mosquitoes and black flies were very bad, and
sometimes at night I was afraid to sleep, thinking the sailors
might throw me into the water.”

On reaching Tobolsk, “I was put in prison, for which I was
very thankful, slava Bohu, as here I had a rest.” Ivan thought
he would be detained only a few days. But weeks, then months
went by, and he began to get used “to the other people with their
shaven heads and the clanking chains; the skin on their faces the
color of yellow cantaloupes.” For five and a half months he did
not once see the sky, trees, or earth. “Only the floor, bare walls
and ceiling.” As his code forbade him meat, he lived mostly on
rye bread and water. He got to know all the prisoners. The guard
liked him, so he was allowed to write letters to the brothers and
sisters in Caucasia.

In November he was freed from the prison building, for the
first time. “The air Wcis crisp and fresh, it was very good to see
even the cold snow again.” But he had not much strength because
he had eaten none of the stew. Each week when the government
official came to inspect the prison, Ivan asked him to let him have
some of his own money. Eventually, given a few rubles of it, “I at
once ordered two brides of tea, ten pounds of sugar, half a pood
of white bread.” The supplies he shared with his cell mates, who

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SLAVA BOHU

did not know how to thank him. “It was as though new life had
entered our prison . . . They were sorry when I left.”

Ivan was allowed to leave after he had been detained eight
months. On February 20, 1897, he started southward in the regu-
lar prison chain. “The road back was very long and very cold.”
Chained together, wrist to wrist, the manacles froze, wrists were
frostbitten and rubbed raw. When they transferred at larger cities,
they were driven like oxen down the streets. “In this manner we
passed through Moscow.” From Moscow, south to Sevastapol,
and thence by boat on the Black Sea to Caucasia.

Ivan was set free in Caucasia on May 5, 1897.

At this stage the faithful decided to dispatch more than one
messenger at a time. Some messengers were able to reach him,
others failed, but not once did one of them divulge his errand
to the authorities. A messenger who had almost reached Verigin,
and who was arrested and told to return to Caucasia, was given
a note to that effect. On the note was the name of his native
village, and he, after traveling a short distance homeward, again
started north to Obdorsk. The police officials whom he encountered
did not know that his home village was in Caucasia, instead of
Siberia. Thus he managed to see Peter and return home safely.

The Wet Mountain exiles in the Georgian valleys suffered from
an eye disease from insufficient nourishment. The eyes of the
afflicted first became bloodshot and painful, then covered with a
white film, and in the last stage, temporarily blind. “Besides this
dreadful and strange disease,” wrote a Tolstoyan, who was among
them, “they are exceedingly exhausted by fever, dyspepsia, cough,
pain in the legs, swelling of the legs and other parts of the body.
In one village I fotmd a prostrate individual in almost every habi-
tation. Many of them die. . . .”

While his followers suffered, Peter Verigin, in Obdorsk, wrote
letters, read Tolstoy’s books, and grew cucumbers in hotbeds. To
the faithful he wrote lengthy epistles sympathizing with the broth-
ers and sisters for their suffering in the Spirit of Christ.

. . . furthermore dear brothers and sisters [he wrote o n Sentembw-
2. 1896 1 I offer for your consideration that we should in future call
ourselves “The Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood.” The
name “Dukhobor” is now understood by the majority of people ; and
though we shall in future still invoke the Spirit of the Lord, to strive
against the weakness of the flesh and against sin, yet the name “Chris-
tian Community of Universal Brotiierhood” will tdl more clearly that

UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD

99

we look on all men as our brothers, according to the command of the
Lord Jesus Christ. From this time we will, slava Bohu, take the name
of “Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood.” Inform all the
Dipothers and sisters. ... I have a letter sent to me from Moscow
that has come from England from a society called “The Brotherhood
Church” [John Kenworthy’s group in London] ... I have written a
•eply . . .

About the same day, Verigin wrote to the Brotherhood Church,
London :

I am a follower of teachings of Jesus Christ and have lived in
exile nearly ten years for proclaiming the Spirit of Truth. Till now
our community have been called Dukhobors. Recently among us a
movement has arisen making for the perfecting of actual life, and
we have decided to call our community “The Christian Community
of Universal Brotherhood,” of which fact I inform you with gladness
and with love, esteeming you as brothers.

Both letters served their purpose. A suggestion from Peter was
a command to his followers.^he letter to the Brotherhood Church
further convinced the English sympathizers that each Dukhobor
was guided “only by his own conscience and reason in the spirit
of Christ.” Verigin’s followers adopted the lengthy title, and
their admirers in England worked the harder to raise funds.

In the same year Verigin copied excerpts from Tolstoy’s book
The Kingdom of God Is Within You, incorporating them in a
letter to the Dtddiobors, as if he, Verigin, had conceived this
masterpiece of pacifist oratory. The epistle, mainly consisting of
Tolstoy’s translation of the Declaration of Sentiments which Wil-
liam Lloyd Garrison drafted for a peace convention in Boston,
Massachusetts, in 1838, was memorized word for word by the
Dukhobors.

We cannot acknowledge allegiance to any human government;
neither can we oppose any such government by a resort to physical
force. We recognize but one King and Lawgiver, one Judge and Ruler
of mankind. We are bound by Sie laws of a Kingdom which is not
of this world; the subjects of which are forbidden to fight; in which
Mercy and Truth are met together, and Righteousness and Peace
have lassed each other ; which have no state lines, no national partitions,
no geographical boundaries ; in which there is no distinction of rank
nor division of caste, nor inequality of sex; the officers of which are
Peace, its exactors Kghteousness, its walls Salvation, and its gates

100

SLAVA BOHU

Praise; and which is destined to break in pieces and consume all other
kingdoms ...

As every human government is upheld by physical strength, and
its laws are enforced virtually at the point of a bayonet, we cannot
hold any office which imposes upon its incumbent the obligation to
compel men to do right, on pain of imprisonment or death. We there-
fore voluntarily exclude ourselves from every legislative and judicial
body, and repudiate all human politics, worldly honors, and stations
of authority. If we cannot occupy a seat in the legislature or on the
bench, neither can we elect others to act as our substitutes in any
such capacity.

It follows that we cannot sue any man at law, to compel him by
force to restore anything which he may have wrongfully taken from
us or others —

We expect to prevail through the foolishness of preaching — striv-
ing to commend ourselves unto every man’s conscience in 5ie sight
of God.

In entering upon the great work before us, we are not unmindful
that, in its prosecution, we may be called to test our sincerity even
as in a fiery ordeal. It may subject us to insult, outrage, suffering;
yea, even death . . .

So ran the ‘'declaration” of Garrison, the United States pacifist,
antislavery champion, founder of the short-lived periodical ATon-
resistant

He could not have known that, years later, in peculiar fashion,
his ringing declaration would become part of the sacred lore of
thousands of Russian peasants.

In the years 1896-97, Peter Verigin wrote more voluminous
letters to the faithful and to sympathizers. To his followers he
guardedly “suggested” variations of the same theme, the Christian
way of life. Slava Bohu!

To Izumchenko, an exile whom he had met in prison in
Moscow, to other theist-intellectuals, dreamers, idealists and
humanitarians, he wrote verbose epistles. “Is this right? ... Is
that right?” He took Tolstoy's philosophy as his own and ex-
tended it, “going Tolstoy one better,” as Aylmer Maude remarked
later. Yet, early in 1896, writing of Tolstoy to an exile, he asked,
“What does his philosophy consist of ? I have not read his works.”
Corresponding with the Tolstoyans, Birukov and Tregubov, cor-
responffing with Tolstoy himself, he did not once give an iifkling
that he, Verigin, was Christ to many Dukhobors; he reiterated
instead that he was “only a poor brother exiled to harsh Siberia.”

These letters to non-Dukhobors were in curious manner to influ-

UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD 101

ence the faithful after their exodus to Canada. Thus, random
excerpts are of interest :

I seem to remember Bellamj^’s words that the present organized
society can be compared to a prodigious coach to which the masses
of humanity were harnessed; the top of the carriage was covered
with people -who with cudgels urged the harnessed ones . . .

According to Darwin, the reindeer exists solely for the purpose
that their hides be removed from them and their flesh eaten, while
overshoes be made by the human beings, or rather the parodies of
human beings. Then why should we not use the hides of human beings
and make some really useful articles, like chamois? . . . according to
Darwin man is an animal . . . has fenced himself off with certain
privileges . . . therefore he can kill and skin anyone but humans . . .

Education, that is, literacy, acts as a hindrance and a brake to
man’s development; that is, the development of knowledge of
truth . . .

Thus, after carefully examining this question fully, I consider
it would be better if there were no literacy. Such literacy like this
letter, to transmit one’s thoughts through distance, I allow ; however
in the next letter I intend to speak about this question in which
I will refute even this necessity . . .

Christ freed man from slavery of physical xmnatural labor, like
an ox from the yoke, and united him with God . . .

Man must not labor but only must contemplate, and enjoy the
world around him. The reason why we find ourselves in physical
labor . , . the first call of the Saviour, “Leave your nets and follow
me. I will make you fishers of men.” From this it logically follows
that, if people gradually, if they wish to make Christians of them-
selves — and we must become Christians — ^must cease from physical
labor and go out and proclaim the New Testament, that is, Christ’s
teaching. “Take thy cross and follow me,” and to follow Christ, one
must live in the same way he did, for we see that physically Christ
did nothing in work, likewise his apostles . . .

School undermines the morals of children . , .

Received two new books, one by Leo Tolstoy Work of the Last
Years, and another by Luchutsko. I had another book of Tolstoy’s,
but it was held up by the authorities at Berezov . . .

My housekeeper is concerned that I wish to eat cabbage with
vegetable oil. People are amazed that I eat no animal fat and still
fed my full strength ...

I am writing a very short letter because my time is taken up with
physical labor . . .

I was given notice that it is forbidden for me to leave the town,
even to go after firewood ... I refuse to consider such orders.

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SLAVA BOHU

because in my ten years of exile I have never attempted to run
away . . .

(To Tolstoy) It appears to me that artificial attempts of man
to help man, especially in spiritual development, has created such a
sad condition among the masses in general . . .

Lately a Dukhobor came to visit me. He stayed only for five
minutes and then was arrested for not having a passport. Such visits
are entirely unnecessary, but Mother does not bdieve my letters can
be true . . .

If we cannot get on . . . without knives, then we shall never free
ourselves from the power of contemporary civilization.

It is important for me to know ; in order to live rightly . . . should
we keep cattle? . . . For it is very natural that if fruits exist man
should feed on them. That is my ultimate conviction . . .

The winds usually blow everything out; but this summer was
so nice that I believe the cucumbers could have grown in ordinary
beds . . .

CHAPTER TEN

TITRNING TO CANADA

EARLY IN 1898, death, desertion and Siberian exile had re-
duced the numbers of the faithful in Caucasia to less than 8,000,
including those in Caucasian prisons. Of the 4,300 Wet Mountain
people exiled to Georgian Caucasia after the burning of the gtms,
six hundred were dead; while one hundred or more, unable to
withstand the persecution, had joined the “bad brothers.” In Kars
and Elizevetpolsk provinces, desertions accounted mainly for the
decrease, though about fifty, including several of Peter’s brothers,
had been sent to Siberian exile. Besides, there were few births, for
Peter’s order to cease sexual intercourse remained in force.

Acute suffering among the survivors in Georgian Caucasia, in-
security and imprisonment among the Kars and Elizevetpolsk
people, had caused many to think of mass migration "to some
other country, as the govenunent here will not allow us to live
peacefully.”

Peter Verigin vacillated concerning the migration of his fol-
lowers to a foreign country. On the whole he was opposed to it,
but pressure was so great that, despite indecision, they continued
to talk of leaving Russia “forever.” To go where? England, or
possibly America. In their agitation they sent messengers to Tol-
stoy. Through the Tolstoyans who had visited Caucasia, his name
had become well known among the Dukhobors, who considered
him a friend as well as the “leader” of a group of lesser Christians.

Soon after this the Dukhobors learned that Peter had written
a letter to the Tsaritsa wherein he, speaking as one of the Duk-
hobor brethren, requested “the right to emigrate to some foreign
country,” if the “Christians” would not be allowed to live peace-
fully in Russia. This knowledge caused increased clamor for
migration.

Whether Verigin really favored his flock leaving Russia, at
the time of his letter to the Tsaritsa, or whether he made the
request to strengthen the plea against persecution, is not revealed.
Nor is it certain that his letter readied Tsaritsa Alexandra, though
it was placed in the hands of Her Majest 3 r’s ladies in waiting.

Peter omitted to sign his family name; neither did he date his

104

SLAVA BOHU

letter, nor reveal that it was written from Obdorsk. For that
caution he made up in the Tolstoyan boldness of the letter itself :

May the Almighty God guard your soul, in this life as well as
in the future life to come. Sister Alexandra.

I, a servant of the Lord Jesus Qirist, am living in the testimony
and glad tidings of his truth, I have been in exile since the year 1886,
from the Dukhobors' Community of Caucasia. The name “Dukhobor”
should be understood to mean that we in the Spirit and with our
souls profess God. See the Gospel, the meeting of Christ with the
Samaritan woman at the well.

I implore you, my sister in Christ, Alexandra, to entreat your
husband, Nikolai, to spare the Christians in Caucasia from further
persecution. To you I appeal because I believe that your heart is
more turned toward the Almighty God. At the present time the
women and children are suffering most ; hundreds of husbands and
fathers are confined in prisons and thousands of families are scat-
tered among the mountain auls, where the authorities incite the native
inhabitants to behave coarsely to them. This is especially hard on the
Christian women. Lately even women and children were put in
prisons.

Our only fault is that we try to become Christians, as far as it
is possible for us. With regard to some of our actions, our under-
standing may not be sufficiently enlightened.

You are probably acquainted with the teachings of vegetarianism ;
we share in such humanitarian beliefs, lately we ceased using meat for
food, drinking wine, and many other tlwgs of a similar nature,
because we consider that the liabits mentioned lead to corrupt life
and cast a shadow on the soul of man. Refusing to kill a nimal s, we
will not, under any circumstances, take away human life. By killing
an ordinary person, even though he may be a robber, it appears to
us that we would be killing Christ himself. The State demands our
brothers train in the art of handling weapons in order to learn the
science of murder. The Christians are not willing to agree to this;
they are put in prisons, beaten and starved. Our sisters and mothers
are disgracefully treated for women, and often jeered at with,
"Where is your God?” “Why does he not help you?” Our God is in
Heavra and on earth and fulfills His will. Ps^s of David 113-114.

This is espraally sad, as it all takes place in a Christian country.
Our Community in Caucasia ccmsists of about 20 , 000 * people. Is it
possible that such a small number of people could render harm to

♦This must have been exaggeration for the sake of emphasis. The
actual figure was not more than 8 , 000 .

TURNING TO CANADA

105

a state organization, if these people were not taken as soldiers ? They
are being conscripted, but that is useless, thirty men are now in the
fortress of Ekaterinograd penal battalion where they are tortured by
the authorities, who in so doing torment themselves. Man we regard
as the Temple of the Living God, and in no case can we prepare our-
selves to kill him, even though we be threatened with death. The
most convenient arrangment would be to settle us in some place where
we could live and work peacefully. All the State requirements in the
form of taxes we will pay, only we cannot be soldiers.

Servant of Christ,

PETER,

Living in exile in the Government of Tobolsk.

Verigin was not sure that he wanted his flock to leave Russia,
yet on July 22, 1898, he wrote to his mother in Caucasia, “I am
waiting for the time w'hen I and all the exiles will be freed to
emigrate to another country.” A month later he wrote to Leo
Tolstoy, “I would like to know your opinion about the emigration
of the Dukhobors out of Russia. I, personally, am almost against
emigration because members of our community are striving toward
self-perfection, and therefore no matter where we emigrate we
would take our weaknesses with us. If it is possible to emigrate,
then there must be certain points of agreement; the government
must return all the exiled Dukhobors to their homes and families
and give us a period of two or three years to prepare for emigra-
tion.”

Thus, while asking Tolstoy’s advice, Verigin had at the same
time expressed a philosophical concept very dear to Tolstoy’s
heart. Naturally Tolstoy agreed with Verigin, feeling himself
more than ever “a weaker brother” of the Dukhobors, who were
the only true Christians on earth.

It was the Wet Mountain exiles in Georgian Caucasia who
continued to press for land, somewhere, anywhere. They had man-
aged to get a petition into the hands of the mother of Nikolai II,
when she visited Caucasia in the autumn of 1897. The petition
requested the right to group in large settlements and be exempt
from military conscription, or that all be allowed to emigrate
beyond Russia. This petition brought results. The Dukhobors,
with certain exceptions, were given permission to emigrate, by the
following order :

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SLAVA BOHU

2Ath Febntary 1898

OsDER 154 : From the office of the Governor of Tifiis to Ivan Abrosi-

moff.

Relative to the petition placed before Her Most August and All
Highest Majesty The Empress Maria Feodorovna, by the Dukhobor
vegetarians who were exiled in 1895 . . . and with regard to their
wish expressed that they be allowed one of two favors. . . .

The Government makes decision as follows :

(1) Exemption from military service cannot be granted.

(2) All Dukhobor vegetarians, with the exception of those who are
now of military age, and who have not completed their military serv-
ice, will be allowed to leave the borders of Russia on the following
conditions :

(a) Obtaining a passport in the regular maimer.

(b) Their emmigration beyond the borders of Russia be at their
own expense.

(c) At their departure, to give a signed statement to the effect that
they will never return to the Empire. In the event of non-compliance
with this, the guilty party or parties will straightway be exiled to
the furthermost comers of the Empire.

When the Wet Mountain exiles were informed of this condi-
tional release, and also that the government would not insist that
all men of military age remain in Russia, so great was their
excitement favoring “the faraway place where we will have land
and live our lives in peace,” that it temporarily submerged the
thought of Peter Verigin being left behind in Siberia.

Tolstoy had favored the Dtdchobors remaining in Russia where
they should be as leaven to the great mass of faltering Qiristians.
In 1897 they had asked his assistance in obtaining permission for
migration, and he, in the fall of that year, had written to them
a lengthy letter ad^essed “Beloved brothers, suffering because of
Christ’s teachings,” urging, “not to be obstinate in your refusal
of military service . . . and release, in this manner, the wives,
children, sick ones, and aged from torment.” This letter, the
Dukhobors decided among themselves, Tolstoy had deliberately
“written in parables to fool the Russian government.” Thus it
should be taken to mean the opposite to what it said.

But Vladimir Tchertkov, ToIstoy^s nominee in England, fav-
ored a spectacular exodus. Between representing Tolstoy and the
Dukhobors in England, Tchertkov already enjoyed a floodlight
of publicity. When he received a telegram from the Christian
mai^s : “Permission has been given for our emmigration at our

TURNING TO CANADA

107

own e^ense. We ask for help and guidance,” he whipped up a
campaign of aid. At first, speaking in the name of Tolstoy, but
progressing rapidly to “Tolstoy and myself,” he enlisted the help
of individuals and groups, among whom Aylmer Maude and the
Society of Friends in London (Quakers) were prominent.

Aylmer Maude had been seventeen years in business in Russia
and had come to know and admire Leo Tolstoy. Inherently a
student, Maude retired from business in 1897, and, returning to
England, set himself the task of interpreting Tolstoy to the
English-speaking world. Soon after, he became active in the
loosely formed Dukhobor aid association, and said of it :

. . . though volunteer workers sprang up in different places,
they had no central organization, no common language, no business
manager, and no plan of action. Each helper gave his services volun-
tarily, and paid his own expenses if he could — ^if not, the money
was scraped together as best might be. Co-operation established it-
self somehow, not without blunders, mistakes, and even quarrels.
People supplied information, made the matter public, offered sug-
gestions, subscribed funds, helped and encouraged one another, and
did what they saw their way to do . . .

Tolstoy, though at first not sharing Tchertkov's zeal for the
Dukhobor exodus, allowed his name to be used freely with plans
for it. Later, when he realized that the Dukhobors were resolved
to leave the land of their birth, he issued a pamphlet appealing
for guidance and money to assist the migration. In his circular
he referred to their “persecutions and sufferings,” and the diffi-
culty of addressing the Russian public through the medium of the
Russian press.

I trust [he wrote] that the leading authorities of the Russian
Government will not prevent sudb assistance being rendered, and
that they will check the excessive zeal of the Caucasian administra-
tion, which is, at the present moment, not admitting any communica-
tion whatever with the Dukhobortsi.

In the meantime, I offer to act as intermedia to all those who
are anxious to help tihe Dukhobortsi, and who wish to enter into com-
munication with them, for until the present my communications with
them had not been interrupted. My address is Moscow Hamovni-
cheski, Pereulok. 21.

Communications upon this subject may, for greater safety, be
sent to me through the medium of my friend, Vladimir Tchertkov,
now living in England, who will be glad to furnish further details.

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SLAVA BOHU

and the latest infonnation on the subject, in answer to any inquiries
addressed to him at Purleigh, Essex.

April 1, 1898.

From his files Tolstoy took his unfinished novel, Resurrection,
completed it and sold it to raise funds for the exodus, even though
to do literary w'ork for money was at that time a compromise
with his conscience.

In London, the Society of Friends negotiated with the British
government with a view to settling the Dukhobors on the island
of Cyprus. Off the southern coast of Turkey and the west coast of
S 3 n:ia, this British-controlled island in the Mediterranean was
sparsely inhabited. The British government, however, required a
guarantee of $125 for each Duldiobor, in the event that it might
be involved in the care of the immigrants should the island settle-
ment prove a failure.

In response to a request by the aid association, that the Duk-
hobors should send a delegation to C 3 q>rus to ascertain if the island
were suitable, Ivan Ivin and Peter Mahortoff, were permitted to
leave from Batum. Funds for their trip to Cyprus were provided
by Arnold Eilorart, an eccentric member of a sectarian colony
which had a brief existence at Purleigh, Essex, England.

A few weeks later, Ivan Ivin, with his wife and six children,
and Peter Mahortoff and his wife, arrived in England to inform
the aid association that Cyprus was not a good place because the
climate was too hot and the soil sandy. While the aid association
of Tolstoyans, Quakers and individual sympathizers, discussed
where next to turn for a haven, the Wet Mountain exiles in
Georgia Caucasia began to move, on their own initiative, toward
the port of Batum on the Black Sea. Rumors were rife that if
they did not leave Russia very quickly, permission would be
canceled. Desperately tired of life in the fever-ridden valleys and
of the constant pressure of officialdom, they set out for Batum,
not knowing how they would leave the port or where they would
go. Cyprus was in their minds ; they had heard about it, and the
conviction grew among them that “Cyprus is the faraway place.”

Soon there were more than 1,000 Dukhobors at Batum, camped
in warehouse sheds. After sending telegrams to England asking,
"What to do?” they diartered a French freighter, with the inten-
tion of going to Cyprus.

The Society of Friends persuaded the British government to
lower the guarantee to $75 for each Dukhobor. The “Friends”

TURNING TO CANADA

109

then contributed $50,000; other donations amounted to $25,000,
and the Dukhobors themselves produced more than $9,000. In
all, there was sufficient money for 1,126 Dukhobors to comply
with the stipulation of the British government.

In August, 1898, an ill-kempt freighter, her holds full of impro-
vised berths, steamed out of Batum harbor. Ventilation below
decks was not adequate, nor were there means of cooking food
for so many people. At Lamaca, Cyprus, Arthur St. John wel-
comed the Dukhobors from the Durau.

“I have revived hopes,” St. John wrote to the aid association,
“of their staying in C 3 q)rus for good, and being a blessing to the
island and an instrument of the manifestation of good-will, God’s
Kingdom on Earth, here in the Old World between Europe and
Asia. Who knows ? It will be manifested somehow. . . .”

Relieved at escaping from their harsh exile, the Dukhobors set
to work in Cyprus — ^the island which long ago supplied timber
for the fleets of the Greek monarchs of Egypt — and built houses
from mud bricks. The roofs they made of timber and reeds,
throwing on a thick covering of earth to keep out the heat of
the sun. At Pergamo and Kuklia, the Cypriate men gazed in
wonder at this display of industry so foreign to them.

The two Dukhobor delegates in England continued to assure
the aid association that Cyprus was too hot for the brothers and
sisters. Becoming convinced there was no land available in Eng-
land, the delegates turned their hopes to America. They wished to
go there, possibly to Canada, to see if the land were good, and if
they cotfld have freedom from military service. From the contri-
butions of Arnold Eiloart, there was sufficient money to pay their
passage. But the delegates could not go alone ! It was too far, and
they spoke no English. They asked Aylmer Maude to accompany
them as guide. Maude eventually agreed to accompany them, and
to pay his own expenses. Then Price Dimitri Hilkov, formerly
of the Tsar’s army, who had abandoned militarism and given his
estates to the peasants, and who for that had been exiled from
Russia, volunteered to go.

On September 1, 1898,* Aylmer Maude, Prince Hilkov, the
Dukhobor delegates and their wives and the six Ivin children, left
Liverpool on the S. S. Vancouver, for Canada. September 10,

♦From here on dates are in accord with our present-day Gregorian
Calendar, instead of the Julian Calendar used in Tsarist Russia whidi
was ten ^ys behind our (^endar.

110

SLAVA BOHU

they arrived at Quebec and went on to Montreal, where he called
on James Morgan with a letter of introduction. Morgan arranged
a meeting with R. B. Angus, a director of the Canadian Pacific
Railway Company, who introduced Maude to Thomas Shaugh-
nessy, vice-president of the railway, with the result that railway
officials agreed to assist the settlement of the Dukhobors, “some-
where on the Prairie along a C. P. R. line.”

It did not matter that many of the prospective settlers were
penniless. Hard-working, frugal-living immigrants from Europe
were an advantage to the railway companies ; they supplied cheap
labor for construction and maintenance of lines, their produce
and purchases increased freight traffic. Moreover, the C. P. R.
had been granted 25,000,000 acres of undeveloped land as an
inducement to build a railway from the Atlantic Ocean to the
Pacific.

Bankers in Montreal, mail-order merchants in Toronto, real-
estate dealers in Winnipeg, small storekeepers and livery stable
proprietors in isolated prairie villages — Canada clamored for im-
migrants to settle the last West.

The Canadian Pacific Railway Company, as a result of Maude’s
negotiations, agreed to carry tiie immigrants from the Atlantic
coast to whatever stations west of Winnipeg might be nearest the
land eventually selected, at the rate of approximately $6.00 per
adult Dukhobor. To allow them to settle in one large community,
as they wished to do, the C. P. R. agreed to let them have the
railway company’s odd-numbered sections and take in exchange
government sections elsewhere.

Maude and his project were enthusiastically received by the
Canadian immigration authorities, who were impressed wiffi the
“sample” Dukhobors, including the six polite Ivin children. The
government, Maude found, would allot 160 acres of prairie sod
to each male of eighteen years and over, subject to an entrance
fee of $10 per 160 acres, payment of which could be deferred for
three years. Moreover, the government would pay a bonus of
$5.00 “per adult, children coimting half,” reaching Winnipeg, in
good condition, by June 20, 1899, and “a further grant of one
dollar and fifty cents for each man, woman and child settled,
toward organization and transportation expenses ...” also, “the
use of immigration halls in Manitoba and the Northwest granted
during the winter months.”

By this agreement “those responsible for the immigration” were
to receive more money than was customarily paid by way of bonus

TURNING TO CANADA

111

on immigrants. It was usual to pay a bonus of five dollars a head
on adult immigrants only. As a rule, bonus money was paid to
commercial agents of immigration and steamship companies. But
as neither Aylmer Maude nor Prince Hilkov desired monetary
profit, it was arranged that the entire sum (which later amounted
to about $35,000) be placed by the government in a special fund
to be used to feed the Dukhobors upon their arrival in Canada.

“The Canadian authorities,” Maude wrote later, “were quite
explicit about the conditions on which the Dukhobors should come
to Canada. They were to make entry for the homesteads indi-
vidually, in the usual Canadian fashion. They would have to sup-
ply vital statistics, conform to the laws of the country, and pay
their taxes.”

In a letter to the aid association in England, and for the benefit
of Nikolai Zibaroff and another Dukhobor delegate who had
arrived in England from Caucasia, Maude wrote: “Marriages
must be registered, i.e., the Government wants to know who is
married, to whom and when . . . Education relates not to the
Dominion Government, but to the State (Provincial) govern-
ments. Till we know in which State (province or territory) they
want to settle, nothing can be said ab^t it, except that education
is not compulsory in the outlying districts, and no religious in-
struction is forced on anyone.”

Maude wrote of “another concession made in favor of the
Dukhobors . . . they were not required to perform, on each sepa-
rate homestead, the work legally necessary before a homestead
may become individual property, but were allowed to do an equiva-
lent quantity of work on any part of the 'township' they took up ;
thus facilitating their communal arrangements.

“As an inducement for them to come,” Maude continued, “it
was pointed out that they would have the advantages of the Militia
Act, which says — ‘Every person bearing a certificate from the
society of Quakers, Mennonites, or Tunkers, and every inhabitant
of Canada of any religious denomination, otherwise subject to
military duty, who from the doctrines of his religion, is averse
to military sendee, shall be exempt from such service when bal-
loted in time of peace or war, upon such conditions and under
such regulations as the Govemor-in-Coundl from time to time
prescribes.’ ” This was later supplemented by an order in council
expressly naming the Dukhobors as a sect having the advantage
of this act.

Maude and Hilkov made plain these stipulations of entry into

112

S3LAVA BOHU

Canada to the two Dukhobor delegates, Ivan Ivin and Peter
Mahortoff, and they, as delegates chosen by and acting for the
Dukhobors, agreed to them, and agreed that their "'brothers and
sisters” would obey the Canadian law as set forth to them as
delegates.

Tchertkov, other Tolstoyans, and Quakers in England, con-
cerned in the exodus, have acknowledged that the terms of entry
into Canada were made plain to the Dukhobor delegates who
arrived in England after Ivin and Mahortoff left for Canada.

Later, Maude wrote, and caused to be publicly circulated : "The
demands and offers of the Canadian Government were by me
communicated to the Dukhobor delegates then in Canada, and
also to other delegates who had by then arrived in Purleigh. None
of them made any objection, but, on the contrary, all were anxious
to hasten the migration as much as possible.”

Besides the Dukhobor delegates in Canada and England, the
Tolstoyans and Quakers were also well pleased with the arrange-
ment made by Maude, who carried with him this credential from
Tchertkov :

Having, in connection with the Dukhobortsi emigration plan,
been in correspondence with various persons in America who have
expressed sympathy with this cause, and who desire to contribute
to its furtherance, I wish to inform them that Aylmer Maude, a per-
sonal friend of Leo Tolstoy's and of myself, has very kindly under-
taken to go to America with the special object of tr3dng to pave the
way for such an emigration.

The success of his efforts will naturally be dependent upon the
help he receives, and I should like those who have been in communi-
cation upon the subject either with Leo Tolstoy or myself, to know
that we have placed the negotiations in America entirely in his (A.
Maude's) hands, and request all who may co-operate in this under-
taking to regard him as possessing our full and unlimited confidence.

He is accompanied by two delegates from ffie Dukhobortsi them-
selves (John Ivin and Peter Mahortoff), who are competent repre-
sentatives of their brethren in Caucasia.

Purleigh, Essex, England,

August 31, 1898.

Among officials of the Canadian government with whom Maude
negotiated were, J. A. Smart, deputy minister of the interior,
Clifford Sifton, minister of the interior, and W. F. McCreary,
commissioner of immigration at Winnipeg. •

TURNING TO CANADA

113

“I was impressed,” Maude wrote, “by their prompt and busi-
nesslike common sense, their readiness to meet difficulties, and
the absence of official hauteur and dilatoriness.”

The C. P. R. issued railway transportation to Maude, Hilkov
and the Dukhobor delegates, and the party went more than 2,(XX)
miles northwest to the Edmonton district. There, near Beaver
Lake, they selected 276,480 acres (twelve townships of thirty-six
square miles each), where the Duldiobors might settle in one con-
tiguous community. Prince Hilkov, a practical agrarian, and the
Dukhobor delegates with their instinctive knowledge of land, w'ere
greatly pleased.

But soon after they returned to Ottawa, the arrangement was
upset. The Conservative party and press opposed the settlement of
the Dukhobors near Edmonton. The Dukhobors were represented
as being as bad or worse than the “undesirable and troublesome
Galician immigrants.” Excerpts from dictionaries and “encyclo-
paedias” appeared in the press testif 3 nng that the Dukhobors were
a cruel and murderous people, “a fanatical Russian sect, founded
in the eighteenth century by a soldier named Procope Loupkin
. . . having no stated places of worship.”

Such partisan controversy was stirred up, and so aroused did
people of the Edmonton district become, that the government
advised Maude he must look elsewhere for land. Whereupon
Maude observed : “A controversy of that kind in Canada at once
becomes a parly question. There is practically no broad difference
of principle between the Canadian ‘Conservative’ and ‘Liberal’
parties. It is chiefly a battle between the ‘ins’ and the ‘outs,’ in
which various railways and other interests play a part. Conse-
quently, the usual game of the party newspapers is for the ‘outs’
to attack whatever the ‘ins’ do ... ”

While Hilkov with Ivin and Mahortoff set out again for the
Northwest Territories in search of land, Maude tried to offset
the unfavorable publicity the Dukhobors were receiving.

Maude went to Chicago to talk with Jane Addams of Hull
House, whom he had known in Moscow where they had discussed
Tolstoy’s theories of passive resistance. Here, Miss Addams’ niece
insisted on donating $200 to help Prince Hilkov, who had
exhausted his meager financial resources in the cause of the
Dukhobors.

In Philadelphia, among the Quakers, Maude met many sympa-
thizers, some of whom had already contributed to the assistance
of the Dukhobors in Caucasia. Active on their bdialf was Joseph

114

SLAVA BOHU

S. Elkington of the Society of Friends. In New York he met
Ernest Howard Crosby, author, friend of Tolstoy, and ardent
sympathizer of the migration.

“Altogether, one of the most surprising and hopeful experiences
of my life,” wrote Maude, “was iJie extent and cordiality of the
assistance and encouragement rendered to those of us who were
concerned in the Doukhobor migration, at this diiEcult and critical
time. It was as though an unseen brotherhood extending from
remote Siberia to Caucasia, including dwellers in Moscow, Lon-
don, and the Essex village from which our party started, and
reaching to these great American cities — had suddenly sprung
into palpable existence to do a work for which no existing organi-
zation was willing to be responsible.”

Maude was persuaded to go on a lecture tour, his first, and
reaching New York City, from Baltimore, he was met by a battery
of newspaper reporters. Prior to his arrival, an enterprising jour-
nalist had supplied New York papers with accounts of the
Dukhobors, somewhat more fantastic than their history, and con-
siderably less accurate. And now the reporters were not satisfied
with Maude’s version.

“That’s not what we have been sa 3 dng,” said a reporter.

“I know it’s not,” replied Maude, “but it’s the truth.”

Another remarked that Maude’s version was not very good copy
compared to that which his newspaper had already published on
the subject.

“You see,” said a third, “we don’t like denying what we’ve
once said.”

One by one the disappointed reporters departed, most of them
subsequently demonstrating in the columns of their respective
papers that they did not like going back on their own statements.

The following excerpts are from New York papers prior to
and after the interview with Maude :

“Four thousand Doukhobors will land on Manhattan Island.”

“A Mr. Mode, a wealthy Englishman, who for years has lived
with Count Tolstoy, arriv^ here from Russia yesterday.”

“A portion of the ground in Oregon and Washington that has
been chosen by Mr. Maude for the colony is now under cultiva-
tion.”

Another story having to do with an "ukase of Paul I,” went
on:

"About 15,000 of the Communists were transported ... In
1860 they got permission to return to Russia, and about 15,000

TURNING TO CANADA

115

of them went back. From that day up to a year ago they were
driven from one part of Russia to another, never being allowed
to remain in one place longer than six months. By that means
their numbers have been reduced to 10,000 ...”

Reflections of this unashamed journalism appeared in Canadian
newspapers, adding to the furore and conflicting reports.

Maude now tried to have the most exaggerated statements
contradicted. In this the Evening Post co-operated, publishing a
lengthy explanation, while the New York Tribune commented
editorially : “The fate of these people has indeed been a hard one
... In their own country , . . the Government issued strict instruc-
tions that they were not to be written about in the papers ; in this
country — before they have even reached this continent — ^they re-
ceive publicity enough, but their history, beliefs, present condition
and intentions are ^together misrepresented.”

Returning to Ottawa, Maude rejoined Prince Hilkov, who,
with the Diflehobor delegates, had selected three blocks of land in
the Northwest Territories. Two of the tracts lay north of York-
ton, while the third was between Prince Albert and Saskatoon.
These blocks were in the area that was to become part of Sas-
katchewan when that province was formed six years later.

The Dukhobor delegates, while in Winnipeg, had met two
Polish Jews who spoke Russian. These dealers, eager to become
agents for the migration, suggested that Prince Hilkov intended
to make money by exploiting the immigrants. Ivin and Mahortoff ,
as confused with their surroundings as the Canadian public was
concerning them and their brethren, became suspicious of both
Hilkov and Maude. They ceased to behave as delegates, going so
far as to deny they had been delegates. They quibbled and behaved
toward Hilkov as they might have to a tax collector in Caucasia.

“It is not right,” Aey said, “that one or two men among us
should decide an 3 rthing.”

Maude reminded them that their purpose in Canada was to
decide for their brothers in Caucasia, that was why the brothers
had sent them. How could 7,000 persons be brought to Canada
without settled plans as to where they were to go and how they
should be provided for?

“Ya neznao, I don't know,” Mahortoff answered.

Ivin and Mahortoff were also suspicious that a move was being
made to separate the brothers when they came to Canada, and
that was why the land was to be in three separate blocks, one of
which was three hundred miles distant from the other two. They

116

SLAVA BOHU

would not be convinced that there was not enough good land in
one block available for homestead settlement

Maude, who had known no Dukhobors xmtil this venture, began
to doubt that they were “wise, reasonable men, considerate of
others and easy to get on with ... a folk who had well nigh
realized the Christian ideal; and that it is incumbent on us not
merely to sympathize and help them, but also to assimilate our
own lives and customs to theirs, as much as our own inferior
development would allow ...”

The Dukhobors in Caucasia continued sending imgent entreaties
that arrangements be made as quickly as possible.

“The Canadian Government,” Maude wrote, “on its side, nat-
urally wanted some responsible person to treat with; and thus the
curious result was arrived at : that Hilkov and I had, unwillingly,
to accept the role and responsibility of plenipotentiaries for people
whom I, at least, knew little of, and whose ‘delegates’ more or
less distrusted us both.”

Maude cabled to the aid association in England, “Let exiles
come. Land ready.” The message was relayed to Caucasia.

He w’ent to Boston to see William Lloyd Garrison, “worthy
son of a noble father,” and from there returned to England.
Prince Hilkov stayed in Canada to await the first settlers.

Meanwhile, at Batum, the Black Sea port from where the rail-
way winds inland through Georgian Caucasia to Tiflis, Leo Suler-
jitski awaited the first trainload of Dukhobors bound for Canada.
Sulerjitski— energetic, brilliant of intellect, whimsical, not readily
predictable; inclined to anarchism, pacifism, philanthropy and
fascinating women — ^had volunteered to accompany the Dukho-
bors to ^nada. Leo Tolstoy’s son, Sergei, who had been in
England to confer with the aid association, joined Sulerjitski at
Batum. After telegrams back and forth, the Lake Huron, Beaver
Line freighter, was engaged at Liverpool.

According to Sulerjitski’s bookkeeping, the cash outlay — not
including food — ^required to move the first party of 2,140 men,
women and children from Georgian Caucasi^/to the Northwest
Territories, north of Yorkton, was $40,100— less than $18 a
head for the journey of 7,000 miles by water and land. The
Dukhobors took their own food aboard the ship.

The main items of expense were:

$14,000 — ^to be paid the owners of the Lake Huron before
the ship left liveipool.

TURNING TO CANADA

117

$14,000 — ^to be paid the owners when the Lake Huron
docked at Batum.

1,000 — ^when she should deliver her cargo at St. John,
Canada.

500 — railway fare to Batum.

600 — ^lumber to go into the ship’s holds for berths.
10,000 — railway fare in Canada from St. John to the
Northwest Territories.

$40,100— Total.

This sum came eventually from the following sources :

$17,100 — ^Leo Tolstoy.

5,100 — Purleigh Colony, Essex.

1,400 — Society of Friends, London. (These Quakers had
guaranteed up to $12,000 from their funds if re-
quired.)

16,500 — from the Dukhobors themselves.

$40,100— Total.

Sulerjitski became nominal owner of the Lake Huron, for the
duration of the voyage, thus relieving the owners of responsibility
for the freighter’s htunan cargo.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EXODUS

ON DECEMBER 6, 1898, Leopold Sulerjitski, Sergei Tolstoy
and the English vice-consul, met the first train of five hundred
and sixty Dukhobors to arrive in Batum.

“They look like Cossack automans on expedition,” said Suler-
jitski to Sergei, as the men in their high sheepskin hats and flow-
ing beshmets peered from the open doors of die railway cars.

The engine shunted the cars into a spin track of Reichter’s oil
refinery. Reichter, a German, had offered his sheds, free of
charge, to shelter the people until their ship should reach Batum.
Climbing from the cars, men, women and children bowed to the
reception committee. As spokesman, Vasa Popoff lifted his red-
top sheepskin hat high above his head. “Sdorovo jevote, it is
hoped you are in good health,” he said, bowing from the waist.

Sulerjitski, had he been a Dukhobor, would have known the
proper reply to be, “Slava Bohu, and how are you yourselves?”
But Sulerjitski did not know this, and Vasa Popoff, unperturbed,
continued the ceremony to the end.

The heads of the women were draped in white, yellow and red
shawls in accord with Peter Verigin’s advice that they abandon
their round helmet caps for shawls tied beneath their chins.

“He does not know the Christian greeting,” whispered a grand-
mother to a sister who stood e)dng Sulerjitski, her hands t^ped
over an expansive stomach.

“Nyet, but he looks like a nice man.”

“I hope he knows how to guide the boat so that we will not be
drowned in the ocean.”

Sulerjitski asked Vasa, “Who are the other leaders, so that I
may explain the arrangements?”

“We have no leaders,” Vasa said. ‘We are all equal. No one
among us is greater. People think I am a leader because I have
a red top to my hat. That is not so. But sometimes the brothers
elect me as their spokesman, and I could make known your mes-
sage to them,” he smiled.

Soon all but the smallest (diildren were unloading baggage from
the cars, carrying it into the sheds; immense ironbound boxes,

118

EXODUS

119

barrels, bales and pails. Two laughing girls carried a box between
them. An old man bent under a wicker basket. Everyone was busy,
in holiday bustle. Like a conveyor belt they worked, one line com-
ing heavily loaded, the other line returning for another load. When
ever 3 rthing was stored in the sheds, women set up cooking jtripods
outside and slung their copper pots, while children gathered Alps
to make fires. Others prepared potatoes and rice.

The next day, trains brought the rest of the Wet Motmtain
exiles. Outside, gray fog driving in from the sea obscured the
ships in the harbor. Then came rain, and it fell for da)rs in a
gusty wind which rattled the sheet-metal roof and slapped the
canvas in front of the sheds like sails in a storm. Woollen bourkas
and blankets were damp; at nights the Dukhobors slept fitfully.
Fires smoked and smoldered, or did not bum at all; to cook food
was almost impossible. Fever and diarrhea added to the misery.
The Batum health officer found several cases of scarlet fever and
isolated them.

Even the cheerful Sulerjitski felt depressed with the rain-laden
wind which “moaned and tore through the immense shed as if
trying to get its cold, soulless fingers between the huddled forms.”

A Dukhobor approached Sulerjitski, saying he must speak with
him alone. The man was hesitant, and talked at length about his
wife, explaining how they had married some years ago. She was
a very good wife. “But life is not always within our control.”
Yet, he was not to blame “for what has happened,” nor was she
to blame. Eventually he confided that his wife was pregnant and
due to give birth tl^t day. It was desirable that she have a place
apart from the others. He was ashamed of his weakness; it was
not right for a Dukhobor to be together with his wife in a way
which brought children.

Sulerjitsla, promising to find a place for her, asked, “Why is
it not right?”

“Well, you see it is like this. It is not right at this time.”

“But why? Who told you it was not right?”

“No one told us. We decided among ourselves about three and
a half years ago, before we decided to bum our guns. Possibly
God knew that we would be in exile and then on a long journey
like now ; and little children would sufiEer in the harsh life, and
that is why it was His will that we have no small ones with us.”

On December 17, the Lake Huron steamed into the dock, and
Sulerjitski went aboard to meet Captain Evans. Soon he had the
Dukhobor men organized into two shifts, each of a hundred, to

120

SLAVA BOHU

work throug-hout twenty- four hours, building berths in the freight
holds. Thirty-six hours later, the berths made, a number of D^-
hobors were earning one ruble and thirty kopeks a shift, coaling
ship. After it w’as washed clean of coal dust, they carried boxes,
bales and barrels down to the lower holds, a procedure protested
by women 'who wanted to have all their belongings with them.

Sulerjitski, seeing a number of bales, kegs, pails and boxes,
besides two enormous trunks, still on the dodc, asked the woman
standing beside them, “For how many people is all this baggage?’’

“For four of us. And why do you ask?’’ replied the woman.

“I have already told you,” he explained, “that you are to take
as little as possible to your beds. Just your dishes, bedding, and
two changes of clothing. Everything else must be stored in the
bottom of the ship, else there will be no room for everyone.
Remember, every week you will be allowed to see your trunks,
so that you will know they are still there.”

“There is not much here,” said the woman, sniffling. “Look at
it, it seems to me there is hardly anything for four persons.
Without my trunks with me, I cannot live . . . they will get
lost. ...” She began weeping.

“What have you got in there?”

“Well, teadishes and bowls.”

“You need as many dishes as that for four people?”

“Da, yes, we do. There is besides, thread, needles, mending
patches, soap, three changes of clothing and the death clothes.”

“Take out your dishes and two changes of clothing,” he ordered.
“And hurry ! Everything else goes in the lower holds.”

“But you let Razanoffs keep more than us.”

“Razanoffs have twenty-one in their family.”

“All right then,” bending to get out her dishes. “But be careful
with these boxes, because I heard our sisters say the poor trunks
are sometimes dropped so hard they knock together and break
open like nuts.”

The Dukhobors had asked permission to group themselves in
the ship according to the villages from which they came. Until
midnight the embarkation went on successfully, but after that the
passageways began to fill up, those at the rear pushing to get
through, and the passengers ahead shouting, “Hold back, there is
no room.” Yet the ship was only half filled, and 1,000 more had
to be accommodated.

Sulerjitski got around by another companionway, to find men,
women, children and bales blocking the procession. They attacked

EXODUS

121

him with questions : “We are lost. . . . How can we get through?
Where shall be put ourselves? . . . We are Orlovka people. . . .
Our elders said, ‘As soon as you enter, go to your left,’ but the
people from Tombovka and Efremovka . . . Such trouble is upon
us. . . . ”

Sulerjitski saw that his carefully laid plans, whereby each fam-
ily was to have found its own berths, w'ere now hopelessly con-
fused. He ordered everyone to take the nearest empty berths. But
many standing by unoccupied berths insisted on “finding our own
places.” Eventudly the passageways became clear of people and
baggage, and the last hold was apparently filled. Yet, there were
still a hundred and fifty persons on the dock. Again Sulerjitski
went through the ship and a glance disclosed the trouble. Some
were sleeping lengthwise when they should have been in rows
with their heads toward the ship’s side; others slept diagonally.
Some had pails, tubs and even barrels in bed with them. It was
necessary to awaken them, and when it was explained that a
hundred and fifty of the brothers and sisters were still on the
dock, those who first wakened shook their neighbors, and the
process of straightening out, stowing baggage, was resumed
amidst sighing and chattering.

“Da, make room for all the brothers and sisters,” said an old
lady. “My, my, how much suffering there is ! Never mind, this is
the last, if God wills.”

“Wake up! Ponemish, understand that everyone is moving,”
said a woman, shaking an old man by his shoulder.

Dedushka moved over, straightening himself in his berth,
grumbling half to himself about “violence and force ... is it to
follow us all the way to Canada?”

It was eight o’clock in the morning before all were aboard. The
winches snorted and clanged, loading the last sacks of flour. Black
smoke came from the freighter’s funnels; the ship’s engines,
warming up, rumbled a few revolutions and stopped again.

Up the gangway, his buttons shining in the sunlight, came the
chief of police of Batum. While he made himself comfortable at
a table covered with papers, all the Dukhobors left the ship to
assemble apprdiensively on the dock. Policemen searched from
bilges to the bridge, looking for fugitive revolutionaries, labor
agitators and Russian citizens who might be attempting to leave
the country without permission. They found no one.

The Duldiobors filed on board again, past the diief of police
and his aides, who scrutinized their permits to leave Russia, on

122

SLAVA BOHU

condition they never return to the empire. Two doctors examined
them for contagious diseases. A Razanoff daughter had scarlet
fever; she, with the whole family had to remain on the dock.

The father begged to be allowed to return to the ship. His eyes
flashed hate at Sulerjitski as he said, “This is all because of you."

Sulerjitski tried to assure him there would be another ship
leaving Batum within seven days, but old Razanoff shook his head
in doubt.

Captain Evans, in the wheelhouse, rang the engine-room tele-
graph. The whistle blew, white ribbons of steam darting alongside
die smoke billowing from the funnel. The green water churned
astern, and the ship moved from shore.

Spontaneously, yet altogether as if by prearrangement, the
DulAobors began a psalm in song. Like collective sobbing from
a human organ of 2,000 reeds, the melancholy cadences rose and
fell. When the singing stopped, the sounds of Batum were left
behind. The purpling hills were fading. Around the ship was a
growing expanse of dark-blue water. Above the masts in the sun's
warm rays white gulls wheeled and cried. To their unprecedented
joumqr in this “great iron box” on the ocean and to the unknown
land ahead of them, the Dukhobors turned their thoughts.

The Lake Huron, to reduce expense, carried only a skeleton
crew of regular sailors, and now Captain Evans’ practiced eyes
selected ninety-four Dukhobors to supplement his nucleus of able
seamen.

Twenty were organized as water carriers from the fresh-water
dstem to the kitchen; mornings and evenings they would carry
hot food throughout Ae ship. There were six guards for the two
fresh-water taps, their duty being to make certain that no one
took fresh water, other than those authorized, and to see that
there was no leakage, nor waste. Two men must be responsible
for lanterns, three for supplying sea water for washing. Nine
were chosen bakers to work three shifts of three men each; two
men constantly mixii^ dough, while an extra man was detailed
to each shift as fireman for the ovens. Twelve men were made
responsible for provisions and stores. Twelve more would tend
the lavatories.

Thirty of the ablest would work with the regular sailors, wash-
ing decks, regulating ventilation, checking fire apparatus, and
standing by during stormy weather to secure the deckload. The
thirty Dulhobor sailors listened carefully to their instructions,
and asked many questions. At first, they seemed unable to under-

EXODUS

123

stand that orders must be carried out at a run — ^no leisurely walk-
ing away such as in the hayfield. With patient good humor,
Sulerjitski explained that sometimes things on a ship must be
done in a hurry, otherwise everyone might be drowned. It was
not like on dry land ; the wind and the sea waited for no man.

On the second day, toward evening, as the Dukhobor sailors
were beginning to grasp the idea, a fresh wind developed into a
small gale. The waves grew larger and the freighter rolled. Dark-
ness overtook the Dukhobor sailors who had difficulty staying on
their feet ; they grabbed the rail, or hung onto one another as the
ship rolled. A heavy barrel broke loose, knocking one man down
and rolling past him to the rail. He got to his feet. The ship rolled
the other way. The barrel chased him as if it were a live thing.
Halfway across the deck he turned, stood his ground, reached out
to stop it, but it reversed and rolled away from him with more
alacrity than ever. Three more Dukhoters joined this barrel
wrestling. Following the monster to the rail, they struggled with
it to its place in the deckload.

“Slava Bohu !” said one, with heaving breath.

"Skoroj quickly, tie it up; already it is trying to come alive
again!”

Some Dukhobors became seasick, and by momii^ the majority
were xmable to leave their berths. The ship creaked and strained.
The passengers strained and groaned. Old folk shook their heads,
predicting the end. A few drank their tea, most of them would
not look at food.

“What matters now, we will never see land again.”

At Constantinople everyone who felt well enough wanted to go
ashore. They could not understand that the Tur&h government
would not allow them to “walk on the land even long enough so
our feet will feel all right again.”

At the dock was Nikolai ZibarofiF, one of the last Dukhobor
delegates to England. He had come with the Lake Huron as far
as Constantinople, as, had he gone on to Batum, he would have
broken his agreement with the Russian government, “never to
return.” His wizened old mother kissed him as he came on deck,
and the others, pleased to see him, asked many questions. Here
too, the Russian doctor, Alexi Ilidi Bakunin, and Nurse Sasha
Satz, joined the ship.

December 26, the Lake Huron steamed into the Dardanelles. So
quiet and warm was the island-studded Aegean Sea, that many
Dukhobors slq>t on deck. “Life on the floating village” became

124

SLAVA BOHU

pleasant, but the enjoyment was marred by news from the ship’s
hospital. Gresha, a ten-year-old boy, had a mouth infection which
Doctor Bakunin and the English Doctor Mercer diagnosed as
“water cancer.” The boy’s swollen throat gurgled as he struggled
for breath, and the doctors could do little else than ease his pain
with injections of ether. He died early in the morning.

The father was agitated when he learned that the body would
be lowered into the sea. He himself reluctantly sewed up the corpse
in a thin linen sheet, placed a weight of scrap iron from the engine
room at its feet, then wrapped it in canvas.

The Dukhobors prepared for the burial service amidst much
discussion concerning this unprecedented event of “burying a body
in w'ater.” They had no psalm for such an occasion and they
thought the ship should go to land where Gresha could be buried
in the Quristian way. Sulerjitski explained that it was customary
to buiy everyone at sea who died on it. It was considered sudi
a good way that many sailors vrho died on land had left requests
to be buried at sea. The Dukhobors shook their heads, and even
when all had assembled on deck for the ceremony, the father of
the boy pointed once more to the land.

“See there,” he pleaded, “it is not far away.”

Sulerjitski explained that the ship might be damaged by going
to shore where there was no harbor; then all might lose their lives.
And the living would be endangered if the corpse were kept until
the ship reached Canada.

A doleful, melancholy psalm issued from the choir, drowning
the sobs of the women. Over the rail, cutting through the smooth
blue water, a school of dolphins fascinated a small boy. The
singing stopped. He pulled his grandfather’s sleeve.

“Dedushka! Grandfather! Look!” the lad shouted. “When he
is put in there will the fish eat him ?”

“Teshush, enough of questions.”

The singing resumed, and when it ceased again, the ship’s
engines stopp^. A last prayer was said. The father and mother
kissed the gray canvas bundle, resignedly passing it to Suler-
jitski.

The assemblage watched Sulerjitski lean over the ship’s side,
open his hands and let the body fall to the water. The bundle
became blue in the water, and satik from sight.

Throughout three days’ fine weather on the Mediterranean the
women washed clothes on deck, the splash of water in wooden

EXODUS

125

buckets and the drubbing of clothes mingling with cheerful gossip
of wives and young girls. The mast of the Lake Huron fluttered
with clothes of many colors. Some hundred boys and girls finished
scraping weathered paint from the boiler and engine-room hatches
and assembled at the galley for buns and orange marmalade. One
after another, no hurrying or pushing, they came to Nurse Satz,
who was impressed wiA their politeness, each child bowdng in turn
and saying, “Spasi Hospodi. Thank the Lord,” and going away
with their noses in the marmalade. There was no quarreling, nor
did anyone who had received his or her share try to get in line a
second time. The only failure of the feast was that one boy’s
leather-peaked cap fell into the sea while he was bowing and
thanking the Lord.

Old Mahortoff, through these warm days wore his fur cap as
usual, and at times his sheepskin overcoat. It was the middle of
winter, he said. He had alwa}^ worn winter clothes in winter.
Eighty years of age, his beard w’hiter and longer than ever, he
walked about the ship with head erect, encouraging here, bantering
there. He had been on the ocean before. Da, yes, in the days of
Nikolai I, he had been on a ship of the Tsar. “Um, yes, this is
the ocean, different ways of doing things,” he agreed with Suler-
jitski. “Not the same as on land. Necessary to obey orders quickly
before everyone gets drowned. Pravda!”

From the older boys, Doctor Mercer, one of the two English
doctors, took lessons in Russian. In this experiment the boys
learned English words from the doctor. Mercer was popular with
crew and passengers, but the Dukhobors did not like his aide, the
“tall red-headed Englishman who treats us roughly.” Thus the
“other English doctor” was told by Sulerjitski to stay entirely
away from the patients, after which he spent much of his time
drinking whisky in his cabin, coming up on deck in the evenings
and looking sullenly out to sea, pipe clenched between his tee&.

Past Gibraltar, on the open Atlantic, the air became cooler,
while an ominous line of dark clouds stretched across the western
horizon. Captain Evans did not like the way the barometer was
behaving. The captain’s apprehension was confirmed when the first
violent gust of cold wind, striking the ship head on, howled
through the rigging. The water darkened with the sky, while the
wind, rapidly increasing to a gale, scattered white foam from the
crests of the waves. It whirled over the deck, rattling the ropes
against the masts, howled in the companionways ; it tore a strip

126

SLAVA BOHU

of can\'as from one of the extra ventilators installed to supple-
ment the regular iron ventilators so vitally necessary to carry
fresh air down to the passengers in the lower holds.

Throughout eight <tys the head-on gale raged, heavy seas
breaking over the decks so that the ventilators for the forward
holds had to be turned about-face to save the seasick passengers
from drowning in their berths. The shuddering freighter barely
held her own. She struggled up the side of an enormous wave,
momentarily balanced on the crest, propeller out of the water,
engines racing, trembling as a nervous animal; then she plunged
down the other side, rising from the trough with anchors rattling
and bow awash.

In the forward holds, the sickly oil lamps went out because of
not enough air. The ventilators on deck had to be turned partly
toward the gale to prevent the people from suffocating. Soon
there were six inches of water swishing in the hold. Along the
metal bulkhead were beads of moisture condensed from human
breath.

The holds reeked. The depleted Dukhobor crew carried pails
of human bilge from below decks. Sixty persons were helpless,
•while hundreds were unable to attend to their most primitive
needs. For the worst cases of con-vulsive stomachs the doctors
gave hypodermic injections, lest the sufferers exhaust themselves
beyond possibility of recovery.

On the bridge. Captain Evans himself was worried, his lips
compressed, his tired gray eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep.
Doctors Bakunin and Mercer, ■with Nurse Satz, had had little
sleep for days. Their work was increased by accidents. Two men
fell down a companionway, each breaking a rib ; a girl was thrown
against a winch; a boy t^ng to carry hot -water fell and scalded
himself. A baby was bom.

Groans, sighs and spasms of vomiting came from the rows of
berths in the frowzy holds. Those still able to speak lamented and
made mournful prophecies.

“We will see one another in death,” moaned a woman closing
her eyes like a stunned hen and swaying her head from side to
side.

“We will never reach land, it is all over,” said another.

And Chemenkoff, kno-wn for his cheerfulness and trust in
God, said, “Is it possible that we shall see the end of this ? Look
what is happening to me." His neck stretched convulsively again.

EXODUS 127

“Ach, more bile, and in a week I haven't eaten as much as one
sunflower seed.”

Some muttered incantations while many of the aged made their
peace with God. The few who attended the ninth burial service
were full of despair. While members of the regular crew carried
the corpse along the pitching deck, several close relatives clung
precariously to tiie rail. Salt spray and wild gusts of wind tore the
burial psalm from their mouths.

So dangerously low did the morale of the passengers become,
that Sulerjitski sought for an explanation besides that of sea-
sickness, and Zibaroff confided the fear which engulfed them.
Everyone was convinced, he said, that the ship was lost. Even the
captain did not know his way out of this eternal area of storm.
The lost ship would eventually sink and all would be drowned, if
everyone did not die of seasickness before. An3rway, there was no
hope left.

Sulerjitski went through the holds and found belief in catas-
trophe widespread and persistent. The women were most certain.
They told him that he knew the ship was lost, but that he was
trying to conceal it.

“Tell me,” he asked one emphatic old woman, “why are you
so sure the ship is lost?”

“Well,” she answered with a triumphant and cunning look,
“you can see for yourself. Now you tell me — ^where does the sun
rise? At first, when we started, the sun rose on this side of the
ship.” She pointed. “And after, when we could see it, before this
storm began,” — pointing with a shaking finger — “it rose on that
side!”

An old man, whose anger rose in spite of his misery, added,
“While we moved along in sight of land, we knew our ivay. Now
there is no shore of any kind. Tak. Who among us can tell the
end or the beginning? It is terrible, terrible.”

Sulerjitski explained to several elders that the storm was very
great and very long. That was all When the ship had been travel-
ing southward through the Aegean Sea, the western sun shone on
its starboard side; now, when the ship was headed northwest, the
same sun shone on the.port side. The elders were noncommittal.
Those who had watches said the “time” had long ceased to agree
with that of the sun. Sulerjitski’s explanations might only be
clever tricks. Who could tell?

With old Mahortoff, Sulerjitski had success. Mahortoif agreed
to reassure the brothers and sisters. With fur cap on his head.

128

SLAVA BOHU

a stick in each hand and the added support of two sailors, he
toured the pitching ship.

“Da, I am an old sailor,’* he roared for all to hear. “I have
checked the way, I tell you. We are on the right track. The ship
is not lost. Soon this storm will be over, and it is not like good
Christians to have such little faith . . . not like good Christians.”

Those who had enough energy left felt encouraged by Mahor-
toff’s voice and bearing. A good day's vrork accomplished, sailors
supported Mahortoff back to his cabin w'hich his venerable age
allowed him to share with Grandfather Bokoff.

By January 21, the gale had spent its force, and the sun break-
ing through the clouds shone down on the deck glistening with
salt. The children were first to recover and ask for food. Then
men and women emerged from the semidarkness of the holds, to
bask in the almost forgotten sun, and enjoy their soup for the
first time in days. Those who had strength walked about the deck,
visiting their friends. The Dukhobor crew, almost recovered, took
advantage of three days fine weather to scrub the ship with naval
thoroughness.

On January 24, after a voyage of thirty-two days, the Lake
Huron was in sight of Halifax. She had brought the largest
number of passengers ever to have embarked on one ship for
permanent settlement on the North American continent. The next
morning, when Doctor Montizambert, of the health service, in-
spected the holds he remarked that he had never seen a ship enter
a harbor in such surprisingly dean and orderly condition. A
freighter at that!

Prince Hilkov came on deck with two Quakers, Joseph S.
Elkington, of the Philaddphia Sodety of Friends, and Job S.
Gidley of North Dartmouth, Mass. James A. Smart, Canadian
deputy minister of the interior; J. T. Buhner, delegate from a
labor organization; reporters from the Halifax Morning Chroni-
cle, St. John DaUy Star, Montreal Daily Star, and other news-
papers followed up the gangway.

The Dukhobors, dressed in Aeir best dean dothes, assembled
on deck as they would for a rdigious ceremony. They were espe-
dally interested in their benefactors, the Quakers “with hats like
stovepipes, and one with the bald head like a polished knee.”

Prince Hilkov announced that the Quakers wished to pray to
the Lord in thanksgiving for their safe arrival.

The Dukhobor men removed their sheepskin hats. Joseph Elk-

EXODUS

129

ington closed his eyes, moistened his lips, and with a finn voice
began a prayer. Occasionally he stressed a word, opening his eyes
and looking over his glasses; twice he knelt on one taee. The
Dukhobors, who understood the word “good” whenever they
heard it in the prayer, were impressed by the Quaker's good inten-
tions, but were inwardly astounded by his strange ceremony and
“unchristian clothes.”

Prince Hilkov translated the prayer of thanksgiving and bless-
ing, explaining that it was on be^lf of all the Quakers in America.

Vasa Popolf, as spokesman for the Dukhobors, stepped for-
ward, bowed and said, “May God bless them for their kind words
and deeds. May the Lord never forsake them. Slava Bohu !”

Hilkov then explained in English that the Dukhobors would
sing a psalm by way of returning the prayer. The visitors, who
had not before heard a Dukhobor psalm, were impressed and
fascinated by the singular melody and so many voices.

Then J. T. Bulmer, the labor delegate, fervently addressed
the Dukhobors in English. Waving his arms, he commended the
immigrants for their noble stand in refusing military service in
Russia, even though they would enter “the new world through a
port studded with cannon.” He did not know the name of the
Tsar of Russia, but he knew of “your patron and friend. Count
Tolstoy . . . On behalf of the peaceful workingmen of this
country, I welcome you to Canada, and bid you Godspeed.”

The Dukhobors, overcome with the warmA and sincerity they
felt in this speech, knelt as one on the deck, and touched their
foreheads to it.

Astonished and somewhat dismayed, the Quakers stood speech-
less. Bulmer looked on with his mouth open. The reporters, like
puzzled roosters, with heads first to one side and then the other,
wrote rapidly in their notebooks. Dr. Mercer’s face flushed. He
had spoken highly of the Dukhobors, and now he felt, vaguely
that the Dukhobors were prostrating themselves in fawning ser-
vility. Even Captain Evans who had seen many sights on many
shores, opened his eyes wide, and stopped chewing his tobacco.

The Dukhobors lifted their foreheads from the deck and rose
to their feet. Their poise further baffled the spectators. No one
said anything aloud, but as a result of a whispered discussion
amongst the Dukhobors, Vasa Popoff said to Prince Hilkov,
“Dimitri Alexandrovich, please tell the Englishmen that we did
not bow to them, even though they may think so. We bowed to

130

SLAVA BOHU

the Spirit of God in their hearts, which made them take us tmto
themselves as brothers in their own homeland of Canada.” Vasa
bowed from his waist.

Prince Hilkov treinslated the explanation. The elder Quaker's
face wrinkled into a benevolent smile. Grasping Vasa’s hand, he
shook it vigorously, saying “Very good, we understand.”

The following day, as the Lake Huron steamed toward St.
John, the Dukhobors discussed this strange country, Canada,
“where no policemen come to meet you, and the government
doctor does not have gold braid on his uniform . . . and a
Frenchman is the governor . . . but the Englishmen do not
mind, because they asked the man Laurier to be the governor
. . . and it is said there are no soldiers in the governor’s palace
. . . Pravda? . . . Vasili says that in England lives the Queen

Victoria, who will not take us away to fight in an army . . . she
wishes us to have our own ceremonies before God, because that
is our own business. Pravda?

Five young men, all of whom had been sailors on the voyage,
insisted that they be allowed to marry five young women who
were as eager as themselves. After mudh argument and many mis-
givings on the part of the old folk who doubted that Petushka
would approve, the parents consented to the ceremony which was
performed on deck.

It was evening when the ship reached St. John. The dock was
crowded with people shouting a welcome. The Dukhobors imme-
diately responded by singing a psalm.

Vasa Popoff was first down the gangplank, his immense frame
carrying the heavy bale on his back wiA apparent ease.

“Look at the size of him . . the Canadians said. “He doesn't
look like a good-for-nothii^. . . . Look, he’s bowing to us . . .
good sport. . . .”

When a -woman came do-wn the gangplank carrying an enor-
mous bale with the greatest of ease, an Englishwoman squealed
in amazement. The bundle contained feather beds.

In a warehouse, between the dock and the trains, were barrels
filled with bags of candies sent by Montreal women. The children
accepted these gifts, bowing seriously, and moving on toward the
colonist coaches without gi-ving the women the satisfaction of
seeing the bags opened.

Smart, the deputy minister of the interior, with a feeling of
satisfaction concerning this immigration project, waited through

EXODUS 131

the night until the fifth and last train was moving westward to
Winnipeg.

En route, the Dukhobors had much to discuss.

“Smart, the government official, without gold braid . . . yet
a more important man than Governor Nakashidze ... he bowed
to us ... he had no Cossacks . . . his ^es are very kind. . . .”

“Look out of the window, so much snow and rocks, how could
anyone grow an)rthing on it? ... It is not necessary to try, we
are going to good land without any rocks. . . .”

At stations, “Look there are more of those Anglichani with
their fur coats on inside out, such ways of doing things. . .

And the “Englishmen” observing at the same time: “Those
Russians, Dook-ho-bors, wearing their coats inside out with the
bare hide on the outside. . . .”

Dukhobors: “Englishmen chewing tobacco and spoiling the
white snow, spitting brown patches in it. . . .”

Canadians : “Why don’t they shave off those mustaches which
make them look like walruses. . . .”

Dukhobors; “Are they Christians?”

Canadians: “Are they Christians?”

The fat man with the red neck and blue uniform, brass but-
tons and peaked cap, looked at his gold watch, raised his other
arm and shouted, “B-oar-d.” The oigine blew two short blasts
and the train moved on, gray clouds of smoke flowing past the
windows.

In the colonist coaches it was warm, each with two coal stoves.
The Dukhobors praised the white bread and Canadian cheese
which had been bought for them with their government bonus
money. Outside it was thirty below zero with a sharp wind drift-
ing the snow, forcing the train to go slower. Once the engine was
uncoupled and ran ahead of the train, bucking its way through a
snow bank, to return later for the coaches. The Dukhobors almost
concluded that Canada was a Christian country, but Nikolai
Zibaroff warned, “We shall see later what to expect.”

In Winnipeg and Brandon they lived in the immigration halls,
waiting for spring, when they would see their “new land.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

PRAIRIE SETTLEMENT

WHEN PETER VERIGIN heard that the first shipload of
his followers had left for Canada, he resigned himself to advis-
ing those yet to leave how they shoidd live their lives in Canada.

In a letter to his father and mother — ^his father died about
this time ; his mother boarded the last ship to leave Caucasia, in
the spring of 1899 — “and to all the brothers and sisters,” he
acknowledged receipt of his parents’ letter of November 27, 1898,
“with thirty rubles enclosed, for which I sincerely thank you,
and may the Lord thank you with eternal life for your remem-
brances and good wishes. I am well and in good health. Slava
Bohu. , .

Concerning the migration, I am told that education is absolutely
compulsory in North America. That is for the best, because simple
literacy is necessary as an aid to life ; for example, so that one should
know how to read and write. One must not understand that literacy
will positively enlighten a man, yet again I repeat it can only be an
aid, and a person reading books may gather information ; and in such
manner his mind may become developed. In general, I think if God
wishes that our people should establish themselves in America, then
simple literacy (rea^ng, writing and arithmetic) is absolutely neces-
sary , . •

Your life in Canada should in my opinion, be on communal
foundation; that is, the absolute necessities like cattle, plows, and
other implements as well as granaries and storehouses, grist mills, oil
presses, blacksmithshops and woodworking shops, all these in the
first years must be built by communal effort; every village commune
must be equipped in this manner.

Do not settle in big villages. The biggest village must not have
more than fifty families. The villages must be built on the customary
plan that you so well know, the average size of homes built to hold
one family each [“one family” consisted of three and sometimes four
generations]; the streets must be wide. If you should happen to
settle in a forest, if it so happens that you should place a village in
a forest, then the trees surrounding the village must not be cut; on
the other hand if you happen to settle on tr^ess land, then at first
opportunity the village streets must be lined with trees, and if the

132

PRAIRIE SETTLEMENT 133

climate allows, plant fruit trees; and in general you should have
shrubbery for wind-breaks.

I embrace you my dear father and mother and send every one in
Caucasia a soul-felt regard.

Your son and brother in Christ,

PETER

In his letters to his parents, Peter had ceased mention of his
son Peter Petrovich Verigin, and Dunia the mother. Previously,
in 1896, he had, perhaps with a desire to erase the divorce from
his conscience, requested his parents to arrange that Dunia and
Peter visit him. But Dunia’s people opposed the idea, and Peter’s
parents, wishing not to hurt his feelings, wrote to him that the
authorities would not permit Dunia to travel to Obdorsk. “Tak,”
wrote Peter in reply, “do not trouble yourselves excessively. If
God wills, we will see each other; eternal life is long, only one
must believe in the soul’s immortality . . .”

When writing of his son and Dunia to the Tolstos^ans and
other non-Dukhobors with whom he corresponded, Peter studi-
ously avoided mention of his divorce, or that he had left Dunia
to goto Lukeria in the Wet Mountains.

In a letter to the Tolstoyan, Evgeni Ivanovich Papov, he wrote
of his “closest relatives . . . my wife and son. When I was pre-
paring for exile . . . she was very cool to me, or to be more cor-
rect, was afraid. Her father was completely antagonistic to me,
he remained in the party which did not join our movement. We,
my young wife and I, decided that she should remain with her
father and bring up our son. I left her with the necessary means
for this. The boy was two years old at that time. Then in 1884
I moved from Elizevetpolsk province to the district of Achkalka-
laksk (Wet Mountains) and worked there, because the center of
administration of all our Dukhobor districts was there. In 1886,
I was exiled. Now the boy is twelve years old. In the city of
Elizevetpolsk is a technical school and he studied there. Now he is
in a class of practical trade. I carry on a correspondence with
my wife and we hope eventually to meet one another. When the
boy becomes of age, she would then come to me. The son writes
to me himself. I had asked Ivan Mikhaeliovich [I. M. Tregubov,
the ToIsto 3 ran] to send some books to Elizevetpolsk for him. I
also ask you, if it is possible, to send him books suitable for his
age. The subject of diese books must be on ‘Christian morality.’
Address : Peter Petrovich Verigin, Trade School, Elizevetpol.”

134

SLAVA BOHU

According to available records, Peter, in his letters from exile,
avoided direct reference to Lukeria Kalmikova, the woman who
made him ruler. He did, however, in a letter to Izumchenkov,
a Tolstoj'an in exile, refer to the Dukhobors suppl 3 dng horse
transport for the Russian army during the war against Turkey
“as the most abominable act in the history of the Dukhobors . . .
It has been brought to general attention in the newspapers that
our people helped the Russian army. To take part in any evil
cause is not right . . . the person in authority [Ltdceria] was sym-
pathetic, explaining that it was impossible ftdly to carry out the
teachings of Christ. We at this moment protest against such an
explanation and say it is hypocrisy because as far as possible
one must live his life in accord with what he thinks and says.”

In this manner Peter disposed of the memory of Lukeria, “the
person in authority” who had adopted him as her child, mate and
deity, making it possible for him to play at Jesus Christ. Con-
veniently now, he forgot that she had asked his advice concern-
ing the transport, and he had then replied that she should do as
she thought best.

Peter Vasilivich Verigin continued in Siberian exile, because
the authorities would not grant him permission to join the exodus.
His son, Peter Petrovich Verigin, remained in Caucasia because
he belonged to the “bad brothers” who had no intention of leav-
ing Russia with the “mad brothers.”

The second shipload of 2,300 Dukhobors left Batum on the
Lak e Sup erior, December 29, 1898, a week after the Lake Huron.
The freighter was less than a month on the ocean, reaching St.
John, Januaiy 27, and standing there in quarantine. In charge
of this shipment — 1,600 of whom were from Elizevetpolsk prov-
ince and 700 from Kars province — was Sergei Tolstoy, second
son of Leo Tolstoy.

In the spring of 1899, the Lak e Su^ rior, returning to the
Mediterranean, called at Cyprus to takel^ard 1,000 Dukhobors
(of the remainder on the island, about a htmdred died during
the six months there). The freighter left Cyprus with her human
cargo on April 27, and after a voyage of twenty-six days — dur-
ing which time there was an even score of one birth, one death —
reached Quebec, May 10. Accompan 3 dng the Dukhobors aboard
this ship were: Arthur St. John, the English retired army officer
who had been banished from Russia and who had gone to Cyprus
to prepare for what was thought would be a permanent settle-
ment there; William Bellows, son of John Bellows; Anna de

PRAIRIE SETTLEMENT

135

Carousa, idealist and admirer of the Dukhobors; Nurse Rabetz,
and Leo Sulerjitski who had temporarily left the settlement in
Canada to take charge of this shipload.

The fourth, last and largest shipload, of more than 2,300 per-
sons, mainly from Kars province, left Batum on the Lake Huron
early in May, and after twenty-seven days on the ocean reached
Quebec. Four died at sea; there w’ere no births. At Grosse Island
in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, the ship was held in quarantine for
smallpox for almost a month. Thirteen cases were discovered and
isolated after Peter Vasilivich Verigin’s mother, Anastasia,
“Mother of God,” had successfully been prevailed upon to assure
the Dukhobors that their thirteen brothers and sisters would be
returned to them when cured.

Before leaving Russia, the Dukhobors of this shipload had
heard there were “no stones in Canada” . . . “Da, pravda!” This
was a serious situation — no stones in Canada, so there would not
be stones to mill the grain. What to do? They must take stones
with them from Russia, enough for themselves and for the “poor
brothers and sisters who had not known there are no stones in
Canada, and so went there without any.” Thus they lugged heavy
stones into ironbound trunks, secreting others in wooden barrels.
Only when they saw the rocky shores of Canada could they be
persuaded that the stones might safely be dumped overboard. “The
ship then rose one foot out of the water,” remarked one of the
sailors. The “no stones” rumor began, it seems, when someone
told the Kars Dukhobors that the land selected for their settle-
ment in the Northwest Territories was good land and free from
stones.

Besides the Dukhobors, the Lake Huron this time brought
A. N. Konshin, idealist and son of a wealthy Moscow merchant ;
Doctor Vera M. Velitchkina; Nurse E. D. Hiriakova, and “V.
Olhovsld.” Olhovski’s real name was Vladmir Bonch-Bruivich;
his revolutionary activities had not pleased the Tsar’s government.

Though the last shipload had reached Canada, debating con-
tinued in the House of Commons as to the character of the
Dukhobors. Replying to the Conservative Opposition, Qifford
Sifton, minister of the interior, spoke of their deanliness aboard
the boats and trains. He agreed with Prime Minister Laurier that
a people should not be exduded from Canada “because they have
consdentious objection to bearing arms. I think the House will
not agree with the suggestion that because a man may have con-
scientious objections to bearing arms that therefore he has not

136

SLAVA BOHU

courage, therefore he has not those qualities which go to make
a good citizen. . , . There is many a man ready to fight, and who
has no courage at all; he has nothing in the sense of true courage.
... I do not believe that I myself . . . would go through what
these Dukhobors have gone through for the sake of their convic-
tions. I doubt if there are five men in this House who would show
the moral courage, who would show the tenacity, who would
show the fortitude which these people have shown for the pur-
pose of preserving the faith which they believe to be the true
faith.”

In Winnipeg, the faithful cooked and slept in two immigration
halls, where almost every day Canadians came to view them, as
if they had arrived from a distant planet. Such was the visitors’
interest in their large wooden spoons that three old men, expert
•wood carvers, w'ere kept busy making these to give away as
souvenirs.

McCreary, the immigration official, was liked by the Dukho-
bors, and he in turn was impressed with the ponderous way they
ate their meals, preceded by everyone standing to say a prayer,
and followed by serious mastication. Joking or “unnecessary,”
talking at the table, was, on the advice of Peter Verigin, con-
sidered unbecoming to a Christian. Oatmeal soup with onions,
porridge with butter, cheese, milk, molasses, tea, “and sugar that
you can pour,” was the menu of a special dinner arranged by a
Winnipeg women’s association.

On Sundays, before daylight, all assembled for the religious
ceremony. The bread, salt, and water was placed on the ceremonial
table, the v of men and women formed, and rhythmic waves of
psalm pulsed forth from the htunan organ; followed by the hand-
clasping, bowing and kissing ceremony, and finishing before noon
with Imeeling and touching of foreheads to the ground. Then
came breakfast.

At Brandon three hundred Dukhobors were in the one immi-
gration hall, their baggage piled in a near-by tent. Nikolai Zibaroflf,
to whom these looked as their elder, suggested that everyone find
work. Idleness was not good, exercise was necessary and Chris-
tian; besides, a few rubles might be earned which would help buy
tools for the settlement in the spring. So the Dukhobor men went
out and sawed firewood all day, recemng as low as fifty coits for
a day's work. The householders were pleased with this cheap labor.
Several merchants and lawyers, who had voiced objection to their

PRAIRIE SETTLEMENT 1 37

entiy into Canada, now commended the government for its “wise
importation of husky ‘bohunks'/'

The regular laborers, who depended on such work for then-
food and shelter, were not pleased, however. As wages for un-
skilled labor continued to drop, they forsook their rugged indi-
vidualism, and together they drafted a protest to the govern-
ment “for bonusing the Dukhobors to come into Canada and
starve Canadian workmen and their families.”

“Dukhobors — ^worse than Chinamen, considering no one but
themselves.” The hostile meeting flowed out of the hall and
through the snowbanked streets of Brandon, carrying signs,
“Down with the Dukhobors.”

The Dukhobors were amazed. It was the first time they had
known of anyone being annoyed just because men wanted to
work, even “for one ruble a day.” When Sulerjitsld explained
the cause for this animosity, they agreed to accept nothing less
than the regular wage rates in Brandon, and the antagonism of
the laborers subsided amidst the disappointment of businessmen’s
wives.

Nikolai Zibaroff, always busy, shoveling snow from the walks
in front of the immigration hall, planning ways to “save money
for spring plowing when w-e get to our land,” thought the broth-
ers and sisters in Winnipeg were spending too much money for
food. “They eat four times a day! Ne nushna! Not necessary!
We live frugally with tea and bread for breakfast and vegetable
soup for the next meal. They have honey, cheese, and milk. . .

Zibaroff, unable to write, dictated to Sulerjitsld a letter of
censure addressed to the extravagant Dukhobors of Winnipeg.
Sulerjitsld, who delivered the letter, watched the sweat gather on
Vasa Popoff’s forehead. Melosha Chemoff felt embarrassed too.
Their reputations as elders were threatened. That evening, at a
general meeting, everyone agreed to a more frugal diet.

Early in February a few days of warm weather, during which
the temperature rose above zero, turned the attention of the
Dukhobors to plans for settlement on the land. Tents must be
obtained imtil the first log houses could be built; axes, saws,
hammers, and some lumber, besides horses and sleighs, lliis ini-
tial expense was defrayed from the government bonus fund.

James A. Smart, deputy minister of the interior, had written
to Aylmer Maude that the bonus arrangement would be simpli-
fied by the Canadian government paying “on behalf of these

138

SLAVA BOHU

people a sum equal to £1 [about $4.86] per head for each man,
woman, and child who may be reported at the oflSce of the Com-
missioner of Immigration in Winnipeg.” In that way the Dukho-
bors would receive the same amount as would have been paid
under the first proposal. Smart wrote. “All moneys granted by
the Government, are to be deposited in the Union Bank of
Canada, at Winnipeg to the joint credit of W. F. McCreary
(Commissioner of Immigration at Winnipeg), and Thomas Mc-
Caffr^, and payments made out of this ftmd only on order of
the committee, Alexander Moffat, Accountant in the Commis-
sioner’s office at Winnipeg, to act as Secretary of the Commit-
tee.”

Herbert P. Archer, who had arrived from England to take
Maude’s place as negotiator between the Dukhobors and the
Canadian government, with Prince Hilkov, was added to the
committee.

About one hundred of the youngest and ablest Dukhobor men
left by C. P. R. train for Yorkton, Northwest Territories, two
htmdred and eighty miles west and north of Winnipeg, From
Yorkton, with Sieir tents, provisions and tools in horse-drawn
sleighs, the advance party moved forty-five miles north to one of
the three large blocks of homestead land set aside for the settle-
ment, and which became known as the “South Colony.”

They pitched their tents in a black-poplar forest on Section 27,
Township 30, Range 1, and set to work cutting logs for tem-
porary dwellings. Five large log houses were built, each with two
rows of bunks. At this stage, Clifford Sifton, minister of the
interior, visited the camp, staying a few days and nights. “A
very nice man, eating his meds with us just like one of us,”
Mikhael Kazakoff thought.

Then a number of ^s advance party went on forty miles
northward, where the second block of homestead land was re-
served along the banks of the Swan River. Here they cut logs
for the first houses of “Thunder Hill Colony.” Zibaroff joined
them there.

Toward the end of February another party of fifty with Suler-
jitski left Winnipeg. Traveling in a coadi on the end of a freight
train, they reached Cowan one midnight, where Zibaroff greeted
them. The one hotel-boardinghouse was already crowded. Several
Indians with their dogs lay on the floor asleq). Two hefty lumber-
jacks, mackinaw coats under their heads, snored in a comer. In
the kitchen a “Galician” girl (Ukranian from Galicia province)

PRAIRIE SETTLEMENT

139

with dusky eyes and a red apron, washed dishes, w'hile a blond
young Englishman dried and stacked rows of plates and cups.
Dukhobors stretched out on the floor and benches. It was still
dark outside when they awakened to eat their porridge.

After breakfast Zibaroff took them to the livestock tent, to
show them the ten Percheron horses and six oxen, purchased from
the bonus fund. The new sleighs were loaded with flour, salt,
dried fruit and other provisions. As there were more supplies than
the Dukhobor sleighs could carry, Zibaroff hired Canadian team-
sters, so that everything could be moved at once, and nothing
left stranded in Cowan when the thaw w’ould come.

With red of dawn in the sky, the teamsters shouted at their
horses, iron runners skudged on the beaten trail, and the sleigh
train pulled out of Cowan. Younger Dukhobors, walking to save
the horses, were in high spirits. Several frolicked alongside, push-
ing one another into the snow until an elder reprimanded them,
“You will play around until you sweat inside your coats!” he
shouted.

“Nichevo, no matter,” replied a young fellow. “We will then
buy an Englishman’s coat with the fur on the outside.”

This flippancy was not appreciated by the elder who was already
displeased by the ease wiffi which some of the young men had
abandoned “Christian clothes” for the clothes of Canada. One
lad was wearing a pair of yellow buckskin Indian moccasins ; an-
other had a Canadian cap with ear flaps, while Ivan wore an
Englishman’s waistcoat underneath his sheepskin. This was
aimo3ring, when clothes and Christianity were dependent one on
the other.

At noon the sleigh train stopped in a clearing bordered by
spruce and poplar trees. The horses were unhitched and fed,
the Canadian teamsters putting the oats for their horses in the
snow. Zibaroff thought this wasteful and remonstrated with a
teamster who growled, “Mind your own business.” In the opinion
of the Canadians, the Dukhobors fed their horses too many oats.

After the meal, the men shoveled snow onto the campfires and
hitched the horses ; the sleigh train moved west, winding snakelike
through the green forest.

Toward evening, they crossed a sparsely treed valley and came
within view of Land Office, a mushroom shack-and-tent town
on the trail halfway between Cowan and Thunder Hill Colony.
Besides a land office, immigration shed and general store. Land
Office boasted a hardware store and a Chinese laundry. A gang

140

SLAVA BOHU

of men, hammering together another frame building, stopped
work to shout a welcome. Harley, the immigration agent, climbed
on a bale of hay and gave a brief speech about great prospects
in this new stretch of country. The Canadians bantered him, and
shouted, “Welcome Duck-a-bors.”

While some Dukhobors pitched their livestock tent and tended
the horses, others went into the immigration shed to prepare food.
It was a long building, lit by kerosene lamps and had a sawdust
floor. A table and benches ran down the center, and there were
two sizzling hot stoves, one at each end.

Most of Land Office came to the shed for the usual evening
social. Three Canadians brought their fiddles and played “Turkey
in the Straw.” A few danced, and when the fiddlers changed to
“Red River Jig,” shouts went up for “Big Joe.”

Joe, a half-breed, jumped into the circle as lightly as a cat, and
loose sawdust flew from his moccasined feet. Before he exhausted
himself in these strenuous steps — ^which combined elements of
Indian, French and Scottish dances — several less agile men
stepped into the ring. As some played out, others leaped in. The
Canadian spectators “yipped” with the dancers, cheering and urg-
ing the fiddlers to faster tempo. The Dukhobor elders, looking
censorious and superior, said nothing. Younger Dukhobors looked
on with secret enjoyment. Faster and faster the fiddlers played;
their feet tapping in the sawdust, sweat dripping from their faces.
The orchestra played out before the dancers. Everyone had a rest,
including the spectators. Then two Canadians began wrestling,
which fascinated the younger Dukhobors more than the dancing.

“Look how they are rolling themselves in the saw’dust !” young
Feduk exclaimed excitedly.

“It is not a Christian way to behave,” Zibaroff shook his head.

When the Canadians produced a rope for a test of brawn by
sitting down in the sawdust, feet to feet, and pulling one another,
some of the Dukhobors moved closer. Big Joe, the dancer, pulled
everyone; no one man could prevail against his strength, and
once he bested three men at a time.

Huge Feduk, stood watching with arms folded, smiling. A
young fellow nudged him, “You could not pull that Big Joe.”

Feduk, before he realized it, had one end of the rope in his
great hands. Pointing a finger at Joe, he asked Sulerjitski, “Please
tell him he should have two helpers.”

When Sulerjitski interpreted, Joe smiled good-naturedly. He
did not need any helpers.

PRAIRIE SETTLEMENT 141

“Tri, three!” Feduk insisted, holding up three fingers like three
bananas on a stem.

“Be a sport, Joe. Take two men behind you,” someone shouted.

Feduk and Joe sat down in the sawdust, feet to feet, the rope
in their hands. Two more sat down behind Joe. The contest began,
Joe’s eyes bulging, Feduk’s neck swelling red. The contestants
swayed. Feduk, with a co-ordinated heave of arms and body,
pulled Joe and the other two men over. The Canadians cheered
Feduk stood up, brushed the sawdust from his clothes, coiled the
rope neatly, as he had learned to do from the sailors on the voy-
age to Canada, and walked back among the Dukhobors. Zibaroff
looked sternly at him, while some of the younger fellows winked.

The Dukhobors slept restlessly that night in the overheated
immigration shed. They did not open the doors, because they
thought such heat must be customaiy^ for the “Englishmen.”

After an early breakfast, the sleigh train pulled out again. The
trail wound through a forest of lifeless trees, blackened and
bleached by a fire of a few years before. Occasionally, rabbit
tracks crossed the trail; once the splayed marks of snowshoes fol-
lowed alongside for some hundred yards, then turned abruptly,
seeming to disappear to a nowhere in the wilderness.

Out of the ghostlike forest, white prairie stretched ahead
toward a lone hill, blue in the distance, Thtmder Hill. The Indians
so named Thunder Hill because it was a summer storm center,
and when the thunder rumbled above it, lightning leapt down to
strike its bald crown. The Indian legend said that inside the hill
was an enormous eagle’s egg, and every summer the eaglet, eter-
nally imprisoned within the egg, pecked with its beak to break the
shell. That was the thunder. From high in the clouds above, his
spiritual mate sent down angry shafts of fire, ever trying to re-
lease him. That was the lightning. The Dukhobors, on hearing
this explanation, thought it a very peculiar belief.

The trail on the wind-swept prairie was blown with shifting
snow, causing the horses to strain in their harness. As the sun
sank in a red glow, the men were tired with their trudging, and
the horses, hea^ hmging low, were gray in frozen sweat.

“Soon we will be at the camp,” Nikolai ZibaroflF encouraged.
“Here is where our land begins!”

The sleighs wound down a gradual incline toward the Swan
River. Across the ice, welcome light shone from a tent and two
log houses.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

COMMUNITY CONTROVERSY

THE ADVANCE PARTIES of younger men in the Thun-
der Hill and South colonies had built barnlike bunk and cook-
houses to provide temporary havens for three shiploads of
Dukhobors that had reached Western Canada by June of 1899.
And now, old men, women and children left Winnipeg and Bran-
don immigration halls to join in the task of settlement.

To Thunder Hill Colony, where Nikolai Zibaroff was esteemed
as an elder, went the “Wet Motmtain*’ people who were first to
cross the Atlantic aboard the Dukhobor Mayflower, the Lake
Huron. To the South Colony went Elizevetpolsk and Kars folk,
who came on the second freighter Lake Superior. In June, those
who left C 3 ^rus on the second voyage of the Lake Huron, joined
the South Colony. In July, the last shipload of 2,300 people from
Kars province went farther west about two hundred and twenty-
five miles where, between Prince Albert and Saskatoon, they
formed the North Saskatchewan River Colony. The Makaroff
family and three others had brought wagons with them, and these
they took, wheel by wheel and board by board, across the North
Saskatchewan River in a boat. This entire colony settled north
of the river, in the wooded era. The broad stream, flanked by
high banks, had stopped prairie fires which had swept up from
the south in the da 3 rs of vast buffalo htmts. Though, since 1880,
the shaggy great brown animals had been extinct between the
South Saskatchewan and the North Saskatchewan Rivers, a few
antelope remained.

Early in May, the settlers of the Thunder Hill and South colo-
nies were striving to gain footholds on their land before the short
summer would give way to winter. Elders had selected communal
village sites in accord with Peter Verigin’s instructions. As vil-
lage houses were built, the temporary bunkhouses were taken
apart log from log, this timber being re-used for additional houses
and bams.

As the government bonus fund was almost exhausted, younger
men of both colonies sought work at wage labor outside the settle-
ment The initial communal contract of this kind, cutting railway

U2

COMMUNITY CONTROVERSY

143

ties, brought $4,076 to the common treasury, a sum suflScient to
pay the last money due Canadian teamsters who had hauled pro-
visions, a few dollars being left for footwear. Success of the tie-
camp venture gave impetus to the idea that able-bodied men should
w'ork in tie camps, at railways construction, on farms — anywhere
so that money might be earned for food, clothing, and more
horses and oxen.

Neither colony possessed horses nor oxen to spare for plowing
the tough prairie sod. The few animals were already overworked,
hauling logs for village buildings; fetching flour, salt, rice, butter
and tea from Yorkton. The nearest railway station to the South
Colony, Yorkton, was twice the distance from Thunder Hill.
But Thunder Hill people had also to haul from Yorkton, a return
trip requiring twelve days over one hundred and fifty miles of
bush and prairie trail. Cowan, end of the projected line of the
Canadian Northern Railway, was nearer Thunder Hill; over the
winter road the ninety miles to Cowan and back could be driven
in a week. But now the corduroy section through the muskeg of
Cowan trail was sunk out of sight in water from melted snow
and spring rains and bordered by broken wagons, together with
caches of settlers’ supplies.

Zibaroff, in Thunder Hill Colony, was able to assure the peo-
ple fish was not meat; that when Peter Verigin had decreed
against eating meat, he had not meant fish. Therefore, it “is Chris-
tian to catch fish from the Swan River and eat them.” Besides,
said Zibaroff, as many fish as possible should be caught and dried
while spring fishing was good.

Villagers dose by the river built a ferry on which to cross. At
first, horses were hitched to the ferry and made to swim its deep-
est part, but as the water rose, the current became so swift that
once horses, ferry and men, swept downstream, almost failed to
gain the opposite bank. The men then strung two ropes from
shore to shore, rigging the ferry in such a way that it would
cross back and forth propelled by the force of the stream, in
accord with the prindple similar to that of a ship sailing at an
angle into the wind.

Like ants, the Dukhobors worked in both colonies, yet beneath
this ceaseless activity was dissension, at times boiling over in
argument and accusation. While most of the “rich” Dukhobors
did not wish everything to be owned in common, commtmal
zealots urged one hundred per cent Christian communism . . .
“everything owned in common as Petushka told us we should.”

144

SLAVA BOHU

The impossibilitj' of sending messengers to Peter Verigin in
Siberia for “fresh advice,” and the impact of a new country
seemed to threaten with eventual disintegration this sect whose
people knew neither the anarchy nor the democracy with which
they were accredited. WTiile the majority had little or no per-
sonal funds, there were a number from Kars and Elizevetpolsk
provinces who had brought with them gold and paper rubles, and
who, after changing them into Canadian curren(y, hoarded it
against the day when they might leave the Christian Community
of Universal Brotherhood to live independently. A few had
brought rich Turkish rugs which they sold for high prices. Many
“rich brothers” who had not suffered exile saw the communal
way of working as little more than an expedient necessary to gain
independent foothold on the land.

Moneyless Dukhobors and communal zealots resented this atti-
tude. “Why did you come to Canada when you do not w’ish to
live the Christian way?” Melosha taunted Semon, of the South
Colony.

“Why would I put my two horses in your commune?” Semon
replied. “Soon all the horses will be dead. Their drivers are so
often changed that no one knows how hard the poor horse has
worked, or when last he was fed.”

There were unceasing discussions concerning “what Peter
would have us do ... to eat fish . . . not to eat fish ... to make
our own boots or buy English boots ... to hold ever3rthing in
common, money, clothes, dishes ... or to own only in common the
horses, oxen, wagons and plows. Is it too late to sow grain? . . .
Should the young men dig garden plots, or should they go away
to work building the railway to earn money . . .

“If they go away they should keep part of their wages for
their own families. . . . No, no, they should keep nothing for
themselves, all money must be put in one bolshoi communal
fund. . . .

“Is it right that we should have elders? . . . Da, yes, elders are
necessary, how else are we to know what to do. . . . Nyet, elders
are not necessary. Are we not all brothers and sisters together,
are we not all equal? . . . My, my, it is plain that we are lost,
nothing will be right until Petushka will leave Siberia and come
to us. . . . Look at Tambovka commune, thqr have six horses,
while we with more people have only one horse and an ox that is
sick. Can that be right? . . .

“Is it right that our young men and women should marry now?

COMMUNITY CONTROVERSY

145

. . . And all married people have children again? . . . How can it
be right when Petushka did not tell us so? . . . But Petushka
meant that it would be right when we reached the new land. . . .
He only told us to stop six years ago because he knew we would
be going on a journey, and that everything would be harsh, and
so we should have no young children among us. . . .”

“Da, da, Petushka knows everything. Now it will be right for
us to have children. . . . Slava Bohu.”

Thus did the people find justification for natural instinct. Mar-
riage, long deferred, became an epidemic among them, though
there seems no record of Peter Verigin having rescinded his order.

Nikolai Zibaroff felt that every young and able man should
work outside the colonies for wages and turn the money earned
into the communal fund for purchasing livestock and agricultural
implements. “Only in this way can we begin properly to work our
land,” he said. While it distressed him to Imow that there were
men who shrank from leaving their villages, it hurt him more
that others were working for wages which they had no intention
of turning in to the communal fimd.

Thtmder Hill Colony, by comparison with the South Colony,
was better organized. Led by ZibaroflF, and made up of “Wet
Mountain” people who in Georgian exile had shared common
suffering and poverty, there was less inequality of personal wealth.
ZibaroflF strove to see that each village commune had an equitable
share of provisions and draught animals. While he combined
faith in Peter Verigin with a practicality of his own, there were
men and women who accused this conscientious man of usurping
the power which “belongs to Petushka alone.”

Prince Hilkov, disillusioned with the Dukhobors, returned to
Europe. Before he left, Sulerjitski had agreed to continue the
thankless task of helping the people settle themselves. While he
was much of his time among the Thimder Hill folk, Vladimir
Bonch-Bruividi helped the South Colony. The nurses, Sasha Satz,
Anna Rabetz, E. Markova, and Doctor Vera Velidikina worked
wherever their services were required. None of these voluntary
hdpers ejqjected payment, nor did they receive it. Though these
“Russians who are not Christians,” (not Dukhobors) suspected
something of the Dukhobors’ credulous faith in their absent
leader, they were not aware of the extent to which they looked to
him for direction. The Dukhobors, careful not to expose their
ruler, reiterated the formula, “No one among us is greater than
another, we have no leader, we are all brokers and sisters to-

146

SLAVA BOHU

gether.” Thus these workers were unable to understand the seem-
ing ingratitude of the Dukhobors.

Sulerjitski, after a tiring day’s drive in search of a railway
grading contract for the Dukhobors, stopped late one night at
a village, where he requested a villager to unhitch and feed his
horse.

“You yourself should unhitch the horse," said the Dukhobor
standing there in the darkness.

“I think you should show some gratitude when I give you
people all my time,” said Sulerjitski ahnost losing patience.

“Nyet, no,” replied the Duldiobor. “Leo Nikoliavich Tolstoy,
your leader, sent you here to help us. You must do what he tells
you. You should not look for thanks when we know you must
obey your leader.”

That Sulerjitski could be working without a “leader,” seemed
incomprehensible to the faithful.

Word reached Thunder Hill Colony that Turnbull, civil en-
gineer for the Canadian Northern Railway, was en route to Land
Office, there to let labor contracts for extending the grade north
from Cowan. Ziberoff, who had prevailed on the Thunder Hill
people to accept all railway work that could be found, went to
Land Office, with two elders, to meet the civil engineer. He was
pleased to find fifteen men from the South Colony ready for
work, and living in the immigration shed where, the winter
before, Feduk had bested Big Joe the half-breed dancer.

A week went by with Turnbull still delayed as a result of im-
passable roads. ZiberofiF fretted at this loss of valuable time which
coidd have been spent digging garden plots and improving the
villages. The older DukhoWs, feeling dejected, talked of their
experiences in Canada so far. Occasionally they assembled in the
immigration hall to sing a melancholy psalm.

Their strange singing attracted lie idle population of Land
Office, who, like the Dukhobors, awaited work. Billy, an English-
man was curious about this “bohunk music which sotmds like a
bloody cow dying,” and Tom, his partner, was curious because he
had heard they would not fight.

“No sir, th^ will not fight. It’s part of their bloody religion.”

"I don’t believe it,” said Billy. “Listen, they’re 'aving another
of their songs. Let’s go in again.”

Inside the hall, BiUy made peculiar noises in his throat in the
hope that the DuWiobors would notice him. When mimicry failed
to attract attention, he hopped about in front of the choir, bump-

COMMUNITY CONTROVERSY 147

ing into one or two, but holding himself in readiness to jump out
of the w'ay if any one retaliated.

The Dukhobors finished their psalm and tried to behave as if
nothing unusual had happened. Anton, an immense young Dukho-
bor, swallowed hard and his face became very red.

“I’d really like to know what sort of chumps you are,” shouted
Billy to Anton. “Wouldn’t fight if you ’ad to !”

“BU-mus" Anton replied in Turkish. It meant that he did
“not understand.” Dukhobors were inclined to reply in Turkish
when confronted with a language they did not understand. They
thought, with some reason, tlmt the best one could do when
addressed in a “foreign” language was to reply in another “for-
eign” language.

Several more idlers had entered the hall and were watching the
play.

“I’ll be blowed !” exclaimed Billy. “Do they mean anyone could
give them a poundin’, and they’d do nothing abaht it?”

"Yah, you best not believe all you hear,” said a Swede. “I once
knew a fellow who wouldn’t kill a chicken, but that same man
shot his whole family.”

The Scandinavian’s gruesome reminiscence was followed by a
moment of silence, the Dukhobors standing with arms folded in
stubborn dismay, here and there a face showing anger. More
idlers had come into the slab building.

“ ’Ere,” Billy roused himself, “let’s be friends. ’Ave a cigarette
for yourself” He offered a Dukhobor elder pouch and papers.

“Nyet,” the elder shook his head slowly.

“What? Don’t smoke?” said Billy blowing a mouthful of
smoke into the old man’s face. “ ’E really enjoys it second-’and
though !”

“Piss on their stove!” shouted someone amidst guffaws.

As the Dukhobors abandoned their bunkhouse, the fun had
gone a bit too far for one Englishman: “You shouldn’t have
done that,” he said. “You ought to know enough is enough.
Get out of here, all of you, and leave their place alone.”

“Sure. Who would want to stay in it now?”

A sense of shame was felt as both instigators and spectators
dispersed from tiie building. None threw more taunts at the
Dukhobors who stood in a huddle outside.

*‘Sivilisoni AnqUchanil Civilized Englishmen!” said Zibaroff.

“Worse than Turks.” Anton plucked a slender stem of grass
from the shimmering prairie.

148

SLAVA BOHU

“And we thought they were Christians !”

“Tomorrow, if the engineer comes, w'e will go away from
here. Slava Bohu.”

That evening the Dukhobors might have been left to them-
selves but for an itinerant bootlegger who, with several quarts of
rye whisky secreted beneath the seat of his buggy, drove into the
slab and tent town. As the Dukhobors were finishing their supper
around the long table in the immigration shed, Billy and Tom un-
steadily entered the door, some twenty hopeful spectators trailing
after them.

“How do you do,” began the little Cockney, with a mock bow.

The unhappy Dulchobors continued munching their bread. One
said in Turkish, “Bil-mus.”

“What are they say — ^ing?” hiccoughed Tom.

"’Ow do I know?” replied Billy.

After preliminaries, which included patting the back of a
Dukhobor’s head and snapping another’s ear, Billy jostled an
elder’s elbow, spilling tea down the front of the old fellow’s
beshmet.

“Listen, Billy.” Tom winked a bleary eye. “You’re too easy on
them. Try putting ashes in their tea.”

“That’s an idea,” laughed Billy lungfing over to a pail of ashes
by the cookstove. With an unsteady handful he returned to the
elder.

“Try this in your tea, old fellow,” he said, dumping the ashes
into the old man’s bowl.

“Oh! My God!” exclaimed the elder. “Why do they treat us
so?"

This incident brought running comment from the Dukhobors
around the table: “These Englishmen. . . . What a people! . . .
Worse than Tartars. . . . There is nothing we can do W keep the
door locked. ”

“Look at the big lummox, sitting there as if someone had put
sugar in his tea,” jeered someone.

Young Anton rose ponderously. Face red and fidgeting with
the collar of his beshmet, he came slowly around the end of the
table.

Billy was indulging in ribald oratory for the entertainment of
the audience in the doorway. Anton reached out with one huge
hand, grasped him by the back of his collar and lifted him from
the ground as if he weighed no more than a chicken. Billy

COMMUNITY CONTROVERSY 149

wriggled, and Anton smacked him over his ear. With a groan,
Billy fell to the sawdust.

Anton looked down at him.

From the gapers in the doorway: “Didn’t I tell you they
wouldn’t keep on taking it?”

Billy stirred in the sawdust. Two Dukhobors helped him to
his feet.

Anton walked back to his place on the bench, other young
fellows looking at him with approval. But Ziharoff was “not
sure it was a right thing to do.” Elders shook their heads : “Was
it Christian? . . . Should a man be beaten because he is not en-
lightened? ... It is not our business to fight. . .

Anton, breathing heavily, looked down at the table. He felt
some perturbation at the censure of the elders, but deep inside
he was not sorry to have broken the code of nonviolence.

The sunset glowed red in the empty doorway. There was
silence, except for the far-oflF cry of a loon.

A week went by, a week of fine June daj^s, and still Turnbull
did not come. Zibaroflf, with as many Dukhobors as could crowd
into one buggy, set out for Cowan. With the buggy springs flat-
tened against the axles, the horses trotted easily along the prairie
trail leading into the forest. By the roadside the grass was the rich
green of early summer, the air pungent with Saskatoon blossoms
white among the green leaves of the poplar trees.

In the spruce forest the trail became a lane of water, mud and
broken corduroy poles. Where the morass was worst were aban-
doned wagons, wheel rims from which the spokes had been tom,
and broken reaches. On log platforms settlers’ supplies were piled
— ^bags of flour covered with canvas, a sewing madhine in a crate,
bedsteads, a dresser wrapped in burlap, and cases of canned goods.

The Dukhobors marveled that these valuable possessions could
be left safely, protected only by the unwritten law of the prairie.

“And no one will steal them?”

“The Englishmen say not. They say it is possible to leave a
fur coat by the road in winter, and no one will steal it”

“That is Christian. In some ways Canada is a Christian cotm-
try. In Caucasia what would be left?”

“Nichevo, nothing.”

Ten abandoned wagons were strewn along half a mile of mus-
keg. In the growing darkness the horses scrambled from log to
log of what had once been a corduroy road.

150

SLAVA BOHU

“What roads !” exclaimed Zibaroff as a loose pole caught in
the running gear of the buggy.

The heavily loaded vehicle dropped into a deep hole. The seat
sank down to the muddy water. The horses stopped, up to their
bellies in mud. The men got out, their legs sinking in the morass,
and when they lifted the buggy the frame was broken. They
went on through the night, leading their horses.

Horses and men, mud drying on them in the morning sun,
reached Cowan, where they found Turnbull. The civil engineer
was not the inaccessible officer they would have expected to find
in Russia. No gold braid; he lived in an office with bunks and
a box stove.

Sulerjitski was there to interpret, and a contract was made.
The Duikhobors would receive fourteen cents per cubic 3 rard for
earth filled on the railway grade. The Canadian Northern would
supply picks, shovels, wheelbarrows, axes, and lumber for run-
ways. !^ch month, two Dukhobors, provided with passes would
go to Winnipeg to buy supplies. They must cook their own food.

“And we can use aU the men you can send us,” Turnbull prom-
ised.

Next day Zibaroff returned to Thunder Hill Colony, there to
spread the news from village to village. Within a week one hun-
dred men were on their way to Cowan.

Thunder Hill Colony, witii its thirteen villages, had 1,400 peo-
ple on 80,000 acres of land — ^five hundred quarter sections. Of
this virgin prairie sod and bush only a few acres had been plowed
or spaded. The draught animals were still required to haul sup-
plies from Yorkton, seventy-five miles distant. The entire colony
possessed only four milk cows, twenty horses, twenty-one oxen,
and thirteen wagons. When many a Western Canadian farmer
considered twelve horses necessary to work his quarter section of
one hundred and sixty acres, the Dukhobors ne^ for more live-
stock was great.

While the ablest men were away working, old men, women and
children toiled at home, cutting logs for more buildings, digging
garden plots, and gathering firewood for winter.

A woman, irked with the slowness of turning over the tough
prairie sod by spade, recalled the days in Caucasia “when our vir-
gins hitdied themselves to the plow and plowed a furrow around
the village to keq) out the cholera.”

“Da,” another agreed, “why do we not now hitch ourselves to
the plows ?”

COMMUNITY CONTROVERSY

151

The idea spread. Soon the plows were biting into the prairie,
each pulled by twenty-four women, with one of the old men be-
tween the plow hanies. At first the rope harness cut into the
women’s bellies, searing them like thin ill-fitting horse collars.
Then they tied sticks to the long rope, twelve poplar sticks placed
at intervals to allow two women to a stick, one on each side of
the rope, and thus grasping these sticks in their hands, it was
easier.

In the South Colony, dissension increased. Some villages were
completely on a commimal basis. Others were semicommunal;
others were running independently, each family claiming even its
own axes and spades. Vasili Potapoff, whose village of Rodio-
novka was communal, set out from village to village to call a
convention “so that all the brothers and sisters will meet together
and decide how we should live.” Vasili favored the “communal
way of life, the brotherly and sisterly life, everyone living in love
and equality; none hungry, poor or rich.” He thought there
should be one big commune embracing the villages of both colo-
nies.

“But how can that be?” asked a woman of one of the villages
Vasili visited. “The Thunder HiU people eat fish. That is not right,
and we cannot join with them.” She had refused to greet one
of her relatives from Thtmder Hill “because his kiss tasted of
fish.”

Yet zealots and doubters, rich and poor assembled for the con-
vention, July 6, in Tombovka village of the South Colony. In the
morning, at the sunny side of the largest bam, about tlnee hun-
dred men stood to sing the opening psalm. Closest to the bam,
and with their backs toward it, sat elders anxious to express
themselves at the meeting. In front of them was a long table, on
the other side of which sat some sixty of the more important
older folk.

On the first row of benches sat “rich brothers,” in beshmets
and high Russian boots. They were the men who had brought
Russian mbles and Turkish carpets, and who saw little advantage
in commimal farming with the poor brothers. Behind these well-
fed men, on benches and on the ground, sat Thunder Hill dele-
gates with lean faces and patched beshmets, together with other
“poor” delegates from South Colony villages.

“Where is Vasa Popoff, did he not come?” asked Chemehkoff.

“He is not well. It is forty miles, and the trail is rough,” ex-
plained ZibaroS.

152

SLAVA BOHU

Sulerjitski, Bonch-Bruivich and Arthur St. John, who had
been surveying the quarter sections of land, were at the meeting.
They said little. They had begun to realize that no matter how
they helped, the Du^obors would continue to regard them as
foreigners.

The discussion soon turned to “how we will get enough money
to buy food and horses.”

One delegate, a lean faced Cyprus refugee from a South
Colony village, said that in his village there was nothing left to
eat but flour, and the last of it would be gone in a month. “We
should all go to the railway grade and work there for wages,”
he thought.

Another South Colony man disagreed. “Our place is behind the
plow on our land,” he said. “We are not people to build rail-
ways.”

“But how are we to get the horses and plows to plow our land?”
asked another.

Someone suggested borrowing money.

“Da,” agreed an elder at the table, “we must get a loan before
we perish.”

“There are some of the brothers among us here who have
money,” said Semon.

The “rich brothers” sitting along the front bench looked un-
comfortable.

Suggestions about a loan continued. Possibly McCreary, the
immigration man. Archer, and the Russian friends might use their
influence.

“Possibly if we would write a letter to Grandfather Leo Niko-
laivich Tolstoy, or to the Quakers," came a timid voice. “Possibly
they might send an offering. Slava Bohu."

Zibaroff, unable to conceal his anger, rose to his feet.

“Ts-ah! God help me restrain myself! Can you not say some-
thing that one will not be ashamed of? Have we not had enough
offerings from our friends already? Let every strong man go to
the railway grade and get work. Then we will have flour and plow
horses. But no, they cannot do that, they must talk and argue,
some staying in their villages, others getting jobs and putting the
wages in their own pockets. Let us all go to the railway grade
and work together as brothers, putting afl our wages in tiie com-
mune.” Zibaroff sat down.

“Pravda! Nikolai Zibaroff speaks the truth.”

COMMUNITY CONTROVERSY 153

“Selfishness is ruining everything. There is no longer a Chris-
tian spirit.”

Before this question was settled the discussion turned to the
division of horses and oxen among the villages.

“How can we hope to have equal division of the horses that we
will buy, when, even now, everj^hing is unfair?” shouted a short
man with large mustaches, an angry light in his eyes.

“Da, our village has only one pair of oxen for a hundred and
seventy people. Spasivka village, having less people, has four
horses and a wagon.”

A man from Spasivka rose to his feet. “And what kind of
horses have we? They are not worth your pair of oxen. One is
a cripple, and we have no harness for him anj-way. He is strong
enough only to stand up and eat grass. . . .”

On and on went the argument, disclosing that not one village
was satisfied.

“Stop this useless talk,” shouted old Melosha Kanigan. “Do
you want to take the axes and chop up the horses and wagons to
divide them amongst each village?”

It was getting late in the afternoon, and nothing had been
decided. Vasili Potapoff accused the whole convention of behav-
ing like Turkish tribes, instead of Dukhobors. Was this the Chris-
tian Community of Universal Brotherhood? Was this the way to
practice the principles of Christian communism?

“Once more I say that all the brothers and sisters in Canada
should unite in one big commune so that all the food, animals,
implements — everything in every village be held in common and
shared by all. . . . Elders, will you adopt the plan I offer? Say yes
or no. Let us anyway know where we stand.”

There was uneasy silence. Eyes turned to the “rich” on the
front bench. These of the tight beshmets and shiny boots were
faced with a disturbing question, difficult to answer by noncom-
mittal remarks.

“Well,” began a “rich” brother in a voice lacking conviction,
“it would be very nice to do those things if everyone takes part.
A very Christian thing to do,” he hesitated.

Zibaroff spoke again. For practical administration, he sug-
gested two communes, one for each colony, but if one colony
had more than the other, there should be an adjustment between
the two.

“Yes, yes, we must carefully consider a plan,” said a red-faced

154

SLAVA BOHU

fellow from the front bench, grasping at an opportunity to shelve
the question.

The sun was sinking. Nothing had been decided. The meeting
was restless.

Melosha Kanigan shouted above the babble of voices. “Are
we for the large commune, or against? Let each village say now
if or not it is in favor of Vasili Potapoff’s resolutsia. This is no
time for slyness I”

A front bencher turned to Melosha. “Have you the right to
commit your village when all the brothers and sisters of your
village are not present at this meeting?” he hissed.

“Why not ?” returned Melosha. “My village sent me here. Why
else would I drag myself here. To look at you ?”

The “rich” brothers insisted they had no such authority. They
would have to consult everyone in their villages.

“That is an old trick of men of your kind,” Melosha accused.
“You knew we were coming to this meeting to discuss communal
life, so you would not bring with you the authority to decide.”
He strode up to the table of elders. “Write down that my village
of Troitski is willing to enter communal life under one committee
of elders for all.” He turned to the benches. “Anyone else who
is willing?”

There was uneasy silence again. Several on the front bench
glared at Melosha and then looked at their boots.

Del^fates from Thunder Hill approached the table and signed
in favor of communal life. The majority from both colonies
favored communal life, but the “rich” insisted thqr had no au-
thority to say.

In the gathering dusk the convention broke into groups, indi-
cisive discussion continuing long after the last redness had left
the sky in the northwest.

In the morning, the delegates left for their villages. The “rich
ones” of the South Colony persuaded their villages that com-
munal ownership was not practical. Other villages, even their
zealots disheartened, dropped the idea of one large commune; a
number continued with various degrees of village communism.

In Thunder Hill Colony, the thirteen villages decided to have
one communal administration for the entire colony. All the money
earned on the railway grade would be received in the communal
fund. Food and clothing would be purchased wholesale, and every-
one would apply to the committee of elders for supplies. The
boxcarload of flour at Cowan should be used by the men work-

COMMUNITY CONTROVERSY 155

ing on the railway grade, as the road through the muskeg was
still impassable for loaded wagons.

More men walked through the forest to the railway grade. At
home old men in worn boots, barefoot boys and girls harnessed
themselves to wagons and hauled spruce logs “for the barns we
will need when our men come home with money to buy horses and
cows.” The men might work on the grade until winter. “We must
have some barns ready before snow comes.”

Ten or twelve horses, not needed for hauling provisions the
seventy miles from Yorkton, were hitched to the plows.

And wives and young girls hitched to the plows in teams of
twenty- four continued to turn over the prairie sod. Sometimes
they walked in time to their own melancholy singing, the muscles
standing out on their bare legs, their beshawled heads bent for-
ward and wet with sweat. In the mornings, their children, too
young to work, frolicked beside them in the long prairie grass,
like colts following draught mares. And, with a muffled grumble,
the sod was turned over, tips of grass and flowers peeping from
beneath rows of fresh plowing.

Three hundred miles to the west, in the North Saskatchewan
River Colony, about 2,000 persons were settling on their land
between Prince Albert and Saskatoon. Poorer families dug holes
in the river bank, until they could afford a log house with a sod
roof. Others with cash built on the village sites. Young men found
work at railway construction, in sawmills, on farms. In this
colony many were opposed to communal ownership, though all
favored living in vill^es, rather than that each family should
live separately on a quarter section “like the English-Canadian
farmers.”

CHAPTER FOXmXEEN

RAILWAY GRADE

IN THE SOUTH COLONY, "rich” Dukhobors of Nova-
troitski village loaned $500 to “poor” Dukhobors of Selkiper
village. With this loan the villagers bought food, farm imple-
ments, horses. Within seven weeks, the “rich” went to the “poor”
and took back the horses, saying that payment of the loan was
too slow.

Soon after that, each village received a loan of $125 from
money sent by Aylmer Maude in England. The Selkiper people
bought two wagons and a horse. A few days later the Nova-
troitski creditors went again to the Selkiper debtors. They col-
lected both wagons and the horse, saying, “These are ours be-
cause you still owe us $58.99.”

“Yes,” said a Selkiper Dukhobor, “but what of the $66.01 that
is still ours ? Yet you are taking ever 3 rthing from us.”

The Novatroitski men insisted that was not so. “You used
our money for seven weeks, buying horses with most of it. That
was the same as using our horses, so now you must pay by let-
ting us have the last two wagons and the horse.”

Thus the Novatroitski “rich” went away with the wagons and
horse, leaving the Selkiper “poor” with little more than they had
had before it all, but owing Aymler Maude $125.

News of incidents such as these spread, increasing confusion
among the brothers. At the same time they became still more
dubious of the good intentions of their Russian and English
“guides.” Yet, incongruously enough, “Tolstoy’s followers,”
were expected to perform feats of legerdemain and conjure
wagons and bags of flour from nothing.

Leo Sulerjitski, at Yorkton to meet a Quaker who was in
Canada to visit the Christian Community of Universal Brother-
hood, saw a Dukhobor riding an ox and leading another along
the dusty main street. Both the lad and the oxen looked as if they
had come from a distance.

“Sdorovo, Leo Alexandrovich. It is like this,” the boy began.
“I was sent to you by the elder of our village, because in our
village soon there will be no flour left. So, I was sent to bring

156

RAILWAY GRADE 157

back some flour. Our neighbors will not haul flour for us now.
They used to haul it, but they stopped. So, I was sent.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Sulerjitski asked. “There
is no general fund.”

“Well,” said the lad, blinking his naive and serious blue eyes,
“the elder told me not to come back without a wagon and flour.
They said you would find a new wagon and flour, slava Bohu.”

One of the oxen coughed, and the other seemed to roll his
round eyes as if to assist the appeal. This, coupled with the
thought of the village elders waiting for the lad to return with
a hundred sacks of flour, caused Sulerjitski to laugh aloud.

The lad’s mouth opened in amazement. How could Leo Alex-
androvich be so frivolous?

As if in answer to a prayer, the visiting Quaker came along the
street. He had with him a small gift of money for the Christian
Community of Universal Brotherhood. And so was the miracle
performed. Slava Bohu!

The next morning, the lad, sitting on top of a load of flour
in a new green and red wagon, left Yorkton for his village. "When
he arrived home, he related how “Leo Alexandrovich likes to
tease.” Of course Sulerjitski had known all the time where to get
a wagon and a load of flour. How these Russian "officers” like
to joke!

Toward the end of July, women and children of the South
Colony trudged through the long grass in search of wild straw-
berries. They gathered wild spinach too, the nurses, Anna Rabetz
and E. Markova, encouraging them because there was indication
of scurvy among the children who lacked fresh vegetables and
milk.

In Thunder Hill Colony, even Nikolai Zibaroff was becoming
disheartened. The men were leaving the railway grade, because
they said, they could earn no more than six cents a day. Per-
plexed, Zibaroff sent a messenger to Sulerjitski, with a request
that he find out the trouble.

With horse and buggy, Sulerjitski started over the trail to
Cowan, and as he bumped over the shattered corduroy road he
pondered on why the Dukhobors could earn no more than six
cents a day. Twenty men came toward him through the lane of
spruce trees. They marched dejectedly, their clothes mud-spattered
and tom. “Like remnants of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow,”
he thought as he greeted them; he asked why were they leaving
their work.

158

SLAVA BOHU

They looked at one another. A man in a tattered beshmet
brushed a mosquito from the end of his flat nose and said, “It
is no use to stay. We earn only six cents a day.”

“Why is it the other men can make $1.50 a day on the same
grade?” Sulerjitski asked.

“Well, Leo Alexandrovich, we have bad places to work. Wet
ditches with many stones,” said one.

Sulerjitski, on questioning several others, received the same
answer. “Wet ditches with many stones,” as if repeating a mourn-
ful psalm. Puzzled, he drove on. The Dukhobors continued their
weary retreat homeward.

Along the trail he met more men straggling back, and each
group gave the same answer to his question.

Wlien he reached the railway grade, not a Dukhobor remained
at work. He found Turnbull, the civil engineer, and together they
walked over the grade where the Dukhobors had been working.

“They would get together and talk,” said Turnbull, “then a
few would leave. I don’t know what th^ were saying, of course,
but you can see for yourself that this is not an especially hard
section. Besides, they picked their own spots over a mile of right
of way, and the good digging averages with the bad fairly well.
When they first came they worked hard, threw up a lot of grade
and made wages as good and better than any of the men on the
job.” Turnbull was as puzzled as Sulerjitski.

Still without a clue, Sulerjitski returned over the forty-five
miles to Thunder Hill Colony. In the villages he found inertia and
disinclination to discuss the railway grade enigma.

After a few days of persuasion, early in August, delegates
from the thirteen villages reluctantly assembled in Mikhaelovka
village. When the last notes of the opening psalm had floated over
the goldenrod, desultory discussion began, one Dukhobor blam-
ing another for the failure of the work.

"Wet ditches with many stones,” gave way to, “Those people in
the village of Stradaevka sent only their very young boys to the
grade, leaving the strong men at home.”

“Somebody had to stay home and build the houses and bams,”
defended a Stradaevka villager.

“All of us have homes to build, and that is no excuse,” replied
another.

For hours accusations were passed back and forth with tedious
lack of logic.

Sulerjitski, feeling the truth would come out if the discussion

RAILWAY GRADE

159

continued long enough, passed the time checking accounts from
merchants of Land Office. Some of these counter-check slips had
no names of the Dukhobors who had received the merchandise.
In these cases, all that the merchant knew was that the man was
a Dukhobor and that he had promised the account would be paid
from wages earned on the railway grade. Such was their reputa-
tion for monetary honesty.

“Postoi! Wait!” shouted Sulerjitski above the babble of voices.
“I will read the accounts to you.”

He read aloud the various items of sugar, boots, butter, socks;
more sugar, butter — ^the delegates interrupting to ask one an-
other, “Who bought this? Who bought that? . . . Why so many
pairs of gloves?”

“Butter, sugar,” Sulerjitski went on, then suddenly, “two
pounds of tobacco.”

“Tobacco!”

“What’s that?”

“Who bought it?”

Elders looked at one another in astonishment.

“Someone among us is smoking,” Legebokoff exclaimed, face
like that of a Spanish inquisitor.

“Why does anyone need tobacco?”

“Who bought it?” again someone asked.

From a back bench came a guilty voice. “The tobacco, it was
bought for tooth medicine. It was — ”

“So! That is what happens!” A man with a massive head
thrust out his jaw at the culprit. “Those who do not work, stroll
about in low-cut shoes and smoke tabak — ^knowing they will have
their tea with sugar in it from someone else’s labor. Then those
who go away to earn the money come home in worn-out boots
and live on bread. What is the use of working if one lives in a
commune?”

One after another, men rose to tell the meeting there was no
use working when they could see no benefit from it. . . . “It would
be much better if the bolshoi commune for the thirteen Thunder
Hill villages was done away with. . . . Each village should have
its own commune. . . . Da, da, then we will know who is work-
ing and who is not. . . . What everyone is buying and why . . .
where our wages are going. . .

Thus the mystery of six cents a day was solved. “Wet ditches
with many stones,” had been a fabrication agreed upon to con-

160

SLAVA BOHU

ceal the real reason for quitting and to avoid, for as long as pos-
sible, the disagreeable ordeal of frank discussion.

The delegates decided that in future all money earned by the
men of one village should be received and disbursed by the
elders of that village — “no more large communes.” Vasili Cher-
nenkoff -was elected “wholesale” treasurer; from wholesale firms
in Winnipeg he was to purchase for all the villages, but only after
each had told him its needs. Only the men who earned the money
would have the right to say how it should be spent. A man leav-
ing the grade before completion of the work would forfeit his
right to vote concerning use of earnings.

The new economic policy of Thunder Hill Colony was received
so enthusiastically that the men returned to the railway, and old
men, women and children worked the harder plowing, hauling
logs for stables, plastering houses with clay and piling firewood
for the winter. On the grade there was keen competition between
the various village groups. Civil Engineer Turnbull was surprised
and satisfied. Could these be the same men who, two weeks before,
had scratched the ground with their picks and used their shovels
to lean on while they argued?

For two weeks the men kept up the tempo of hard work, but
toward the end of August they slackened their pace, and began
holding meetings again, to discuss leaving the grade and going
south for the wheat harvest. Farmers near Winnipeg, they had
heard, were paying $35 a month and board. “All the Canadians
have gone to work in the harvest; why is it necessary that we
stay here?” said Feduk.

Nikolai Aldakimonich opposed going to the harvest fields. He
had discovered that the railway fare to Winnipeg was more than
nine dollars each, “and to watt: there would take one week,”

“Why can we not get more money here?” suggested another.
“We should ask the engineer.”

In the morning a delegation approached Turnbull, askmg for
sixteen cents a cubic 3 rard — two cents more than the original con-
tract. Turnbull refused. If they did not wish to work at the old
rate, they could leave, and he would get other men for the job.

Another meeting was called. At the end of two hours discus-
sion they decided to lie down in the shade of the spruce trees
“where we will rest, until we are promised sixteen cents.”

Except for a few flies zigzagging above it the grade was de-
serted. Neither the ring of a pick nor the scrape of a shovel dis-
turbed the afternoon air. The foreman, in a brown derby hat.

RAILWAY GRADE

161

came out of his tent, his horselike lips muttering, “These bohunks
. . . you never know what they are going to do next.” He shouted
to the men, “Why quit? Go to work.”

Ponderously a Dukhobor rose to his feet. "Schestnawtsat"
he said holding up his fingers on both hands, then closing them,
then opening them to hold up all fingers of one hand and one
finger of the other.

The foreman took his pipe out of his mouth. “You won’t get
sixteen cents,” he said.

Turnbull telegraphed the Winnipeg office for men, but tran-
sient labor was feeding wheat sheaves into humming threshing
machines, and no men were available at the wage rate offered
by the railway.

For two days the Dukhobors rested, after which Turnbull
offered them fifteen cents. They still asked for sixteen, but on
the third day they agreed to fifteen and a half cents.

At Cowan, still end of commercial steel, twenty Dukhobors had
finished a contract for unloading rails, and they wanted their
money before joining the brothers on the grade. The English-
speaking foreman had told them, through an interpreter that, as
their money must come from Winnipeg, they would have to wait
three da3rs.

“Three days ? In three days we will have eaten all our food,”
said Kuzma.

“And we will lose the wages we would have if we were work-
ing with the brothers,” said another.

Kuzma had a suggestion. “Possibly if we tell the foreman
‘Kodam,’ he will get the money for us.”

“What does that mean, ‘Kodam’?” asked Efrem.

“It means something to those Englishmen. When they are
angry and in a hurry they always say, ‘Kodam,’ ” said Kuzma.
“Now we are angry at him and we want our money, skoro !”

“Da, we should now go and tell the foreman ‘Kodam.’ ”

The twenty men went to the foreman’s car. Kuzma knocked
on the car door.

“What do you want?” asked the foreman.

“Moni give,” said Kuzma, holding open his hands.

“I told you you must wait. Come-from-Winnipeg,” said the
foreman. He paid no more attention to the Dukhobors but went
along the cinder path toward the station.

“Kodam,” shouted Kuzma after' him. “Kodam, kodam.”
echoed the others.

162

SLAVA BOHU

“Kodam, kodam, kodam, kodam,” all joined the chorus, follow-
ing the foreman to the station like twenty angry geese.

The foreman hurried. He had heard things about these Dukho-
bors. One could never tell what they would do. They might be
peaceful, but what had they done to the fellow in Land Office
who put ashes in their tea? It was the first time he had heard
them in angry words.

“Kodam, kodam!”

Section men in the yard gaped at the spectacle. The locomotive
engineer of the work train, oilcan in hand, paused by the wheels
of his panting engine. The telegrapher thrust his head from the
station window.

“We must get authority wired from Winnipeg to release their
wages,” the foreman told the telegrapher. “I don’t want them
hanging around here,”

“Telegram-money-come-today,” he called through the window
to the Dukhobors.

That afternoon they received their wages. Thanking the fore-
man and bowing, they boarded a work train which would take
them to within a few miles of where the brothers were working.
As the train rocked along the new road-bed, the Dukhobors dis-
cussed the magic of the English word, “Kodam.”

“Pravda,” Semon nodded, “it is a very important word to the
Anglichani.”

The train stopped at the gravel-pit switch, and they climbed
out of the bunk car to trudge past rows of new ties and a giant
shovel snorting white steam into the dear autumn air.

It was almost time to stop work for the day when they reached
the first group of brothers working in the ditch, but the con-
ventional greeting could not be deferred.

“Sdorovo jevote,” said the spokesman for the newcomers, who
lifted their caps and bowed.

“Slava Bohu,” the Dukhobors in the ditch dropping their tools,
returned the bow. The greeting proceeded. To hurry it was not
the Christian way. Ril^, the foreman's assistant, was intrigued
with these cerononies; each time they seemed to fascinate him
more, and he fixed the Russian words in his memory. Next morn-
ing he felt ready to try it himself, and stopped ceremoniously on
the grade.

"Sdorovo jevote,” he said, lifting his straw hat high above his
red head and bowing from the waist.

RAILWAY GRADE 163

With a clatter the Dukhobors dropped their shovels and picks.

“Slava Bohn,” they raised their caps and bowed.

“Spasi hospodi,” said Riley bowing.

“Spasi hospodi,” returned the spokesman.

“Nashi vam poklon pasilali,” continued Riley, which meant
that all Riley’s fold bowed to the God within the Dukhobors in
the ditch.

“Spasi ich hospodi. May it please the Lord to save them,” the
Dukhobors bowed.

Riley bowed once more, put on his straw hat, and, highly
pleased with the success of his experiment, went along the grade
to the foreman’s ofl&ce.

These greetings became a diversion which relieved the monotony
of the camp. When the foreman first caught him at it, they both
laughed. But later he warned Riley not to waste the men’s time.

On a morning with a cool tang of fall in the air, Riley, un-
aware that the foreman was walking the grade not far behind
him, stopped alongside a gang where big Kuzma was working.

“Sdorovo jevote,” he began, lifting his hat

“Slava Bohu,” the Dukhobors dropped their tools.

“Spasi hos — ”

“Say, Riley,” the foreman shouted, “I thought I told you to
stop that. . . . every time you do it you cut down a man’s work
by forty minutes. Leave those elephants to their work, I’m telling
you. You’re getting to be a ‘godam’ nuisance.”

Riley argued with the foreman, the Dukhobors looking, dis-
concerted by this rude interruption of their ceremony.

Kuzma picked up his shovel, and remarked, “Pravda, brothers,
what they are now saying must be very important, both at once
shouting ‘kodaml’ ”

In September the new grade reached the east bank of the Swan
River at a point some twenty miles from the nearest Dukhobor
village, Mikhaelovka. In the mornings white frost glistened on
the planks running up from ditch to grade. Yellow leaves floated
down from poplar trees, wild rose bushes were as red as their seed
pods. In November the rails reached the river, while farther on,
the Dukhobors — ^now the only men left on the job — slowly built
more grade from the frozen earth.

“Soon we shall have to chop the ground with an axe,” sighed
Kuzma laying aside his pick.

“We are working harder, eating more, and making less and
less money,” said another.

164

SLAVA BOHU

“Da, I think it is useless to stay here like birds pecking at
stone.”

That afternoon work stopped for a meeting at which it
decided that “the time has come for us to go home to our vil-
lages.” The foreman agreed also that they could now earn little
more than enough to buy their food. So they started back along
the grade they had built, carrying their tents, blankets, flour and
potatoes.

On reaching the Swan River and the steel, they were offered a
contract to clear away bush for the new townsite. The town would
be called Swan River, and already gangs of carpenters were put-
ting up frame buildings. The Dukhobors took the contract, and
while they cut down the willows and poplar trees, the carpenters’
saws and hammers worked fast to beat the first snow.

To this widening clearing at the railhead came most of Land
Office, the mushroom log, shack and tent town where the Dtddio-
bors had had their introduction to frontier horseplay. Cowan
moved up, too— railway buildings, boarding house, merchants
and all — cleaving behind rusty cans, worn-out overalls and tree
stumps to commemorate it.

Log upon log, board above board, spike after spike. Swan
River, unpainted but proud, rose up in the clearing, ahead of the
first heavy fall of snow by a few hours. The Dukhobor crew was
proud, too. Home to their villages they marched through the for-
est, singing happy h3rmns. They had brought the railway closer
to the colony. They had money to buy horses for spring plowing.

“MUdiaelovka is beginning to look like a proper vilkge,” said
Gregori.

“Snow on the roofs like in the Wet Motmtains,” said another.

“And fences already!”

The old men, wives, girls and children had built wooden fences
around the new plowing — ^the plots in the prairie that “our sis-
ters plowed like horses.”

In Milkhaelovka, the first log bunkhouse, built nine months
ago, had become the hospital for Thunder Hill Colony. Dr. Vera
Velichkina shared the log house beside it with Nurse Satz. Vladi-
mir Bonch-Bruivich was in the village, writing down the words
of Dukhobor psalms, sorting his collection of Verigin letters and
preparing an article for a Russian language newspaper. Sulerjitski
brought his diary up to date and discussed wiA Zibaroff plans
for a co-operative store.

RAILWAY GRADE

165

The white lull which comes with the first snows of real winter,
and this reunion of husbands and wives and families, brought a
holiday feeling to the villages of Thunder Hill. Steam baths. Long
nights in feather beds, pleasant afternoons by warm stoves. The
smell of fresh bread from the ovens. Borsh, soup, “with other
vegetables in it besides potatoes.” Pancakes with honey and tea
with sugar. A looking-back on the summer’s difficulties; diffi-
culties diminished by time and the harvest of wages. Hopeful
plans for spring.

To this seasonal mood the four Russian “guides” responded
in their “unchristian way.” In Mikhaelovka village, in the eve-
ning, with wood snapping in the box stove, they recalled Moscow
and St. Petersburg. The stage, the ballet — shimmering dresses
and lilting waltzes. Old times, good friends, and aspirations in
the distant homeland.

Nurse Satz, her slim figure silhouetted on the wall from the
light of the kerosene lamp, thought she would “go back next
autumn.”

Sulerjitski, his eyes laughing, joked with her about stajdng.
“You have a sheepskin coat big enough for two of you — ^lots of
rice, potatoes and tea. And Dukhobor psalms almost everyday.
What more do you want?” he asked.

“In Russia there is work to be done,” said Bonch-Bruivich.
“There is a bureaucracy to be tom down and a democracy to
put in its place.”

“You have parliamentary government here in Canada,” said
Sulerjitski. “Freedom to say and write what you like. None of
Nikolai’s secret police. No fear of exile.”

“But here we are all exiles,” Bonch-Bruivich shrugged. “All
four of us. Exiled from Russian music, Russian art — from Rus-
sians. I want a Russia with freedom and a government for the
people, schools and farm machinery for the peasants.”

“That would mean a lot of trouble. I have a much simpler plan.
Become a Dukhobor Christ. That is an art, making democra<y as
unnecessary as literacy,” laughed Sulerjitski.

Dr. Vera hummed a lively tune, “Come,” she smiled, “let’s
sing, there will be time yet to make the revolution.”

Outside, a sharp wind, blowing shreds of smoke from the vil-
lage chimneys, drove a swirl of powdery snow along the street.
A Dukhobor, lantern in hand, latched a stable door and turned
toward his house. He stopped, pushing his sheepskin hat from

166

SLAVA BOHU

his ears, and listened. On the whirl of the wind came the rollick-
ing notes of the kvartet. “It is not good when our 'guides’ sing
such worldly songs,” he muttered.

A coyote howled, its last eerie cry blending with the north
wind.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MUCH TROUBLE

THE SILENT FOREST awakened to the clip of axes as
Nikolai Zibaroff, with a hundred men, cut a lane through spruce
and poplar to the new town of Swan River. While a crew with
oxen and horses hauled the nearest logs back to the villages of
Thunder Hill, Zibaroff and his men in Swan River built a com-
munal stable and a communal warehouse.

A Russian had donated $2,000 toward stocking the communal
warehouse and for the opening of a co-operative store in Mikhael-
ovka village. And now in Swan River a boxcar of goods from
Winnipeg waited on the railway siding. The Dukhobors pushed
and pulled this red vagon along the track to the big door of
their new warehouse. One of them pried the metal seal from
the car door, everyone waiting expectantly. With a thunderous
rumble the great door slid open along its iron track. Inside they
went among the packing cases, barrels, kegs and burlap sacks,
like children entering an immense Christmas stocking.

“In the bolshoi boxes is the cloth for the women,’^ ZibaroflF
pointed.

“And here are plowshares.’’ Anton felt the blue blades of steel,
tied together with wire.

“And nails for building.”

“Leather for boots.”

With an almost merry zeal the car was emptied into the ware-
house, at the side door of which waited sleighs to take some of
these valuable possessions immediately to the new co-operative
store in Mikhaelovka.

But the opening of the store in the village was frowned upon
by two divergent factions, retail merchants of Swan River who
feared loss of business, and Dukhobors who believed “It is not
Christian for a Dukhobor to work in a store.” One of the most
agitated of the Dukhobor opposition was Zibaroff’s wife, Ona.

On the morning the store opened, the curious crowd was as
interested in the Kristianski controversy as in the bolts of cloth
and other goods. On a sack of tapioca in a comer sat Ona, biting
her anemic lips. Behind the counter stood Zibaroff, his hair damp

167

168

SLAVA BOHU

with sweat, mustaches drooping, broad back more than ordinarily
bent.

“I will have some of that red print,” said a woman.

“How much do you want?” asked Zibaroif.

“Eight 3rards I will need for myself and my children.”^

He measured out the cloth and tore it neatly with his strong
fingers.

Ona, her nose red and wet with tears, sobbed audibly.

“Why do you cry, Ona? What is wrong?” asked Zibaroff in a
distressed but kindly voice.

“It is not right,” she wailed. “It is not Christian for one of us
to be a trader.”

“This I am doing for the good of the people. Can you not
understand? Someone must do it.”

“But it is not Christian to be a trader,” she sobbed.

The woman with her red print drew back into the crowd of
faces looking out from their shawls and sheepskin hats; faces
sedulously concerned with the drama, some sincerely perturbed, a
few certain that Zibaroff was right, others maliciously pleased at
the controversy.

Zibaroff, his forehead furrowed, explained he was "not a
trader.” The co-operative store was not to profit from the toil
of the people. It was to help them save their hard-earned money.

“Is it not better,” he reasoned with them “to have our store and
me working in it? Is this not better than you buying your cloth
from the other kind of merchant?”

But Ona continued to sob.

Zibaroff sighed. Deep wrinkles in his tired face told the story
of continuous struggle for the flock, climaxed by rebuffs even
from his own family.

He went on worldng in the store, receiving no salary and little
gratitude. Many criticized, some said nothing. A few had it in
them to support the project; all came to the store to get their
share of the goods.

A woman, whose husband was jealous of Zibaroff’s accomplish-
ments, left the store with a sackful of goods under her arm.
Meeting Ona, she smugly accused, “Your husband Nikolai is now
a kulak trader. What right has he to call himself a Christian?”

“Oh, oh,” replied Ona, “it is all very sad, I do not know what
to do.”

Sulerjitski and Bonch-Bruivich, looked upon as foreigners by

MUCH TROUBLE 169

Qiristian zealots and hypocrites alike, were unable to bring reason
to bear on the subject.

Sulerjitski asked a Dukhobor leaving the store with a jug of
kerosene if he liked the new store.

“D-ah, ye-s,” he replied hesitantly.

“Do you think it is a good thing?” Sulerjitski asked.

“It is good there is a store. But” — ponderously shifting his
weight from one foot to the other — “it is not right for a Qiristian
to work in the store. According to Qiristian laws, we should not
do such things. So it is not right for Nikolai to do it.”

“Who then, in your opinion, should work in the store?”

“Well, maybe some of those who are not ours. Not Qiristians;
like Vladimir Bonch-Bruivich, or possibly yourself.”

This was the finishing touch for Sulerjitski; he made plans to
return to Russia. In similar fashion Dukhobors drove Bonch-
Bruivich, the Russian doctor, and the nurses from their midst.
When one of the Russians asked why it had been right for Peter
Verigin to work in his father’s store, the answers were, “Well,
that was different,” or, “We don’t know,” or, “It was before we
began the new life.”

In the South Colony with its “rich” and “poor,” and where
there was no elder with the ability of Zibaroff, many had not
sufficient food for the winter. Scurvy and anemia were common
and when their plight was made known, several associations came
to their assistance. The largest contribution of $30,000 was made
by the Society of Friends (Quakers) of Philaddphia. Supplies
assembled at Yorkton included one boxcar of sugar, four cars of
corn meal, one of rolled oats, one of onions, about three cars of
potatoes, and cars containing wool, yam, leather, lamps, tea, lin-
seed oil, and three hundred spinning wheels. The monqr also
enabled the Dukhobors to purchase twenty more oxen and forty-
nine cows for milking.

As assistance reached the villages, one effect of it was to halt
the tendency away from communal life. There were many who,
though opposed to communal ownership, nevertheless desired to
share in contributions from non-Dukhobor sources.

But the drift toward individual and one-family ownership of
livestock, implements, food, continued. Nor was it only the “self-
ish rich” who sought to live independently of the Qiristian Com-
munity of Universal Brotherhood. Bonch-Bruivich had observed
that there were those who wished to escape the moral coercion of
the Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood.

170

SLAVA BOHU

“Already, towards the end of 1899,” Bonch-Bruividi wrote
under the name of “Olhovsky” in a series of articles later pub-
lished in the Russian periodical Ohrasovanie, “I made acquaint-
ance with some Diikhobors who, having thought deeply and having
observed the lives of other people in Canada, and having read a
little, had come to the conclusion that all rites are useless, including
even the Dukhobor rites; and that it is useless to go to Sunday
meetings, for these are also a ceremony. They had become con-
vinced tlmt all men are made alike and are bom equals ; that there
are no ‘chosen people,’ such as they had esteemed their own sect
to be, and that Dukhoborism is far from being ‘freedom,’ but
represents shackles rather, and that a far freer life is possible.
The proselytes of this new movement were noted, and were sub-
jected to the persecution of public opinion; and now these really
advanced thinkers are obliged to leave the Dukhobor groups and
to settle on separate farms. No doubt with the growth of true,
free enlightenment, such cases of ‘perversion’ will become more
frequent.”

In the North Saskatchewan River Colony the tendency away
from communal ownership was stiU more marked, though all lived
in villages as in the other colonies. In some villages the houses
were built by communal eflfort of the inhabitants, the heads of
families then drawing pieces of paper from a hat to decide who
should have this or that house. In other villages each family built
its own house; thus, families" having the fewest able-bodied men
and women, the least money — and the most old folks and children
— had also the poorest and smallest houses.

Early in 1900, more than 2,000 had abandoned communal
ownership, while of the remainder — more than 5,000 men, women
and children — ^lived under various degrees of it. Of the 5,000 com-
munal adherents, Bonch-Bruivich estimated that more than 3,000
desired individual or one- family ownership when it should become
economically feasible.

In all villages of the three colonies, individuals owned their
own clothes regardless of the degree of communal ownership or
lack of it

In 1900, the question of how the land should be owned became
a problem to all the Dukhobors. The Canadian Homestead Act
required that each quarter section (160 acres) of the 270,480
acres of land set aside for the Dukhobors should be entered in the
name of a male Dukhobor over eighteen years of age. And further.

MUCH TROUBLE

171

after a lapse of three years from that date, each such Dukhobor
should take the oath of allegiance to the British Crown, in order
that he receive legal title to his quarter section. Then, in accord
with the arrangements made on behalf of the Dukhobors by
Aylmer Maude, the deferred payment to the Canadian govern-
ment of $10 for each quarter section would become due. These
government stipulations had, of course, been made known to the
Dukhobors prior to exodus from Russia and entry into Canada;
but now they were suspicious of the land laws, though Arthur
St. John and Herbert Archer spent days explaining to them that
compliance with the laws would not mean that each male Duk-
hobor over the age of eighteen would have to move out of his
village and live the lonely life of a prairie homesteader squatted
in the middle of his quarter section. The village habit was deeply
rooted in the Dukhobors. Even those who desired individual
ownership of everything, shrank from abandoning the village.
Most of those who now had individual ownership were afraid
to deal directly with a “govenunent.” Even they wanted the
Canadian government to grant the land “to all the brothers and
sisters, and we ourselves will then divide it among us.” Suspicious
as they were of one another, the majority had more faith in the
“brothers” than in the Cana^an government.

The faithful longed for Peter Verigin to “come here and tell
us what to do.” They petitioned Quakers, in England and the
United States to “help our poor brothers who are living in exile
in harsh Siberia, to join us in Canada where they too may live
peacefully in the Spirit of Christ.”

In letters from him there was nothing specific about land laws,
payment of taxes, registration of births, marriages and deaths.
Peter did not give positive advice concerning an 3 d:hing. “Do not,”
was the spirit of his epistles. “Do not go in for large buildings
... Do not immerse yourselves in husbandry . . . We must settle
permanently where Qirist wills, slava Bohu.” Such letters caused
the Dukhobors to think that Verigin did not wish them to make
agreements with the Canadian government about anything. Some
of the anticommunal Dukhobors took advantage of Verigin’s
vagueness to declare that “Petushka no longer wishes us to own
ever 3 i:hing in common anymore. He wishes us to wait until he
comes, then he will tell us what to do.”

To add to the confusion, the Dukhobors received a lengthy
letter from Leo Tolstoy (written from Moscow, February 27,

172

SLAVA BOHU

1900 n.s,) in which he exhorted the “dear brothers and sisters
in Christ” to live communally and hold everything in common.

You suffered and were exiled, and still are suffering want,
because you wished, not in words but in deeds, to lead a Christian
life. [Tolstoy wrote] You refused to do any violence to your neigh-
bors, to take oaths, to serve as police or soldiers ; and you even burnt
your weapons lest you should be tempted to use them in self-
defence; and in spite of all persecutions you remained true to the
Christian teaching. Your deeds became known, and the enemies of
the Christian teaching were troubled when they heard of them, and
they arrested and transported you, and then exiled you from Russia
— seeking as much as possible to prevent your example from becom-
ing known. Those who accept the Christian teaching were glad and
triumphed; and they loved and praised you, and tried to follow in
your footsteps. Your deeds helped much to destroy the dominion
of evil, and to confirm men in Christian truth.

Now, however, I learn by letters from our friends, that the life
of many of you in Canada is such that the friends of the Christian
teaching are confounded, and its enemies rejoice in triumph. “See
now — ^these are your Dukhobors!” say the enemies of Christianity
As soon as they reached Canada, a free country, they begin to live
like other people, and to gather property each for himself. So that,
evidently, all they did before was only done at their leader's order,
and without their well knowing why they did it.

Dear brothers and sisters, I know and understand the difficulty
of your position in a* foreign country, among strangers who give
no one an 3 rthing freely, and I know how terrible it is to think that
those near to one, and the weak ones of one’s own family, may re-
main destitute and lacking support. I know how difficult it is to live
in community, and how hard it is to work for others who are not
industrious, and who consume what they do not earn. All this I
Imow ; but I also know that if you wish to continue to live a Christian
life, and do not wish to disavow all for the sake of which you suf-
fered and were exiled from your fatherland, then you must not live
as the world lives, each accumulating property separately for him-
self and his own family, and withholding it from others. It only
seems as if it were possible to be a Christian and yet to have property
and withhold it from others, but, really, this is impossible. If once
such a thing be admitted, very soon nothing of Christianity will
be left except empty words — and words, alas 1 that will be insincere
and hypocritical. Christ said that one cannot serve Gk)d and Mam-
mon; one of the two — either gather for yourself property, or live
by God. At first it seems as if there were no contradiction between
the renunciation of violence and refusal of military service on the

MUCH TROUBLE

173

one hand, and the recognition of private property on the other. ‘We
Christians do not bow down before external gods ; do not take oaths ;
do not go to law ; do not kill,” say many among us, “and when by our
own labor we obtain property — ^we not only do not transgress the
teaching of Christ, but we even obey it if from our superfluity we
help the destitute.” But this is not true. In reality, property means
that what I consider mine, I not only will not give to whoever wishes
to take it, but will defend it from him. And to defend from another
what I consider mine is only possible by violence; that is — ^in case
of need — ^by a struggle, a fight, or even by murder. Were it not for
this violence and these murders, no one would be able to hold
property. . . .

Therefore, to acknowledge properly is to acknowledge violence
and murder; and to acknowledge property, which is only maintain-
able by soldiers and police, there was no need for you to refuse
military or police service. . . .

Moreover, partiality to property is in itself a snare, and Christ
shows it is so. He says that man should not take care for the mor-
row . . . because, such care leads to nothing . , . Man cannot secure
himself ; first, because he is mortal — as shown in the Gospel parable
of the rich man who built barns — ^and, secondly, because one can
never find the limit of security required . . . Like die birds of the air
and the flowers of the field, he is secured, once for all, by God . . .

Tolstoy’s letter continued on in this strain for almost another
1,500 words. And after urging the Dukhobors to work hard, and
commending the “detailed arrangements” of communal living to
the wisdom of themselves and their elders, he signed himself,

Farewell,

Your loving brother,

LEO TOLSTOY

The epistle was variously interpreted. Some thought that he
had found out their leader, Peter Verigin, was Christ. “So when
Grandfather Leo Nikolaivich mentions Christ in his letter, he
means Petushka.”

“Da, it must be so. Does not Leo Nikolaivich say that we did
ever 3 dliing because our leader told us to?”

“Pravda,” agreed another, “Petushka has told Leo Nikolaivich
everything, so that everything that Leo Nikolaivich writes to us
is what Petushka would have us do. Petushka told us not to make
large buildings, and Grandfather warns us now that we should
not build large bams.”

174

SI-AVA BOHU

The supporters of this interpretation flaunted it in the face of
the “brothers who do not wish to live as Christians, who do not
wish to share everything."

The anticommunal brothers replied, “Petushka has not told
Leo Nikolaivich eveiything.” Probably Peter Verigin was not
even aware of what Tolstoy had vsrritten, said they.

“Possibly Leo Nikolaivich is not allowed to write what he
means. Possibly the Tsar will not let him. So, he had to write
the opposite of what he means. And so he means we should not
live in the communal way, but each own everything for ourselves
instead,” said one.

“Tolstoy means that we should not sign for our land sepa-
rately,” insisted Melosha Kanigan. “To do that would be to own
the land in a way not Christian. He also says that we should not
swear oaths. That we already know. But the Englishmen, Archer
and St. John, both tell us that we must swear oaths to the English
King, before we can have our land. And that we know we caimot
do.”

Zibaroff said that Grandfather’s letter was “very plain. He
means that we should live the Christian way, owning everything
in common, just as Petushka once told us we should in his letter.”

There were a few Dukhobors who thought the “advice” to mean
that they should “live as the flowers of the fields, and birds of
the air, and the animals who own nothing — ^not even wearing
clothes.” In such a maimer would it be possible to live freely in
the Spirit of Christ, owning nothing.

And so Tolstoy, with his literary powers of persuasion driving
his philosophy of nonviolence toward an ultimate abstraction,
left his “dear brothers and sisters” more than ever confounded.

Increasing the confusion, Alexander Bodianski arrived in
Canada to live among the Dukhobors. Bodianski, a scholastically
educated Russian with enough money to indulge in theory weav-
ing, had written letters of advice to the Dukhobors. He felt, how-
ever, that from a distance he could not successfully impart "God’s
truth,” so he came to agitate “that the earth is God’s,” and that,
in consequence of God’s ownership, it was neither necessary nor
right for human beings to pretend ownership of land.

Bodianski had little difficulty in talking most of the Duk-
hobors out of applying for their homestead land in accord with
the Canadian land laws. Opposed to “making private property of
God’s earth,” he compiled epistles to the government, which
Dukhobors willingly signed. “There is no justification,” ran one

MUCH TROUBLE

175

of these, “for a man who, knowing the Law of God, takes as his
own that which was not produced by his labor, but was created
by God for the use of all men. There is no justification for a man
who, knowing the Law of God, makes private property of land."

This and similar pronouncements suited many of the Duk-
hobors, who now informed Arthur St. John and Herbert Archer
that “we caimot sign papers with the Canadian government when
to do so would be against the Law of God.” But the land laws
of their “God” and Bodianski did not stop some Dukhobors from
tr 3 dng to oust a non-Dukhobor homesteader from land which the
Dukhobors considered their own territory.

This perplexing combination of zealotry and peasant slyness
was confusing in the extreme to Canadian government officials
who decided to “wait and see,” in the hope that the Dukhobors
would “get over” their strange ideas about God and land.

It was difficult for Canadians to understand the “madness” of
the Dukhobors ; as difficult as it was for the Dukhobors to under-
stand “madness” foreign to themselves. The Dukhobors, a gre-
garious people, were unable to comprehend “why the ‘Englishmen’
live alone, each on their separate farms, having no village, some-
times not even a family nor wife.”

In March, 1900, a month on the prairie when weather is more
than ordinarily deceitful and tempestuous, two Dukhobors had
a sad experience with a lone homesteader, gone mad. The two,
a grandfather and a lad, were visiting in a village of the South
Colony, near Devil’s L^e. For several days they waited for a
snowstorm to end before they would attempt to return to their
own village.

One evening the wind died with characteristic suddenness and
the temperature rose above zero. By noon of the following day
the snow was soft underfoot, while the sky was as blue as a
robin’s egg, except for a bank of doud on the southwest horizon.

“It is a good day to go home,” said Grandfather Soma, watch-
ing drops of water glisten from steaming eaves.

They left after noon, in a freshening breeze, but they had not
gone far before gray clouds scudded across the sun and small
flakes of snow rode on the wind. By six o’dock it was becoming
dark; their clothes were damp from sweat and snow. Grandfather
Soma was tired, and they both knew they had missed the signs
— ^upright sticks with tufts of grass — which indicated the way to
their village.

Through the darkness they went on; the young one ahead,

176

SLAVA BOHU

punching deep holes in the drifting snow with each step, and
Grandfather Soma trying to step in them to conserve his elabing
strength. The wind became colder, freezing their outside clothes,
but Grandfather felt warmer, though tireder. Sinking down in the
snow, he would rest for a little while. Driven snow swirled about
his sheepskin hat and over his felt boots, but it was very com-
fortable to rest.

The lad stopped, not hearing the crunch of footsteps behind him,
and shouted, “Grandfather! Grandfather Soma!”

His shout was answered only by the harsh sighing of the wind
and the howl of a coyote. On the wind came an answering howl.
The lad shivered from physical cold and man’s age-old fear of
the howl of the wolf at night.

He searched out his own trades and trudged back to find the
old man sleeping as peacefully as if he were in his own feather
bed at home. The lad got him to his feet and took his arm over
one shoulder. They stumbled on for half an hour or more.

When he was almost as exhausted as Grandfather, they saw
a light from a house. Slava Bohu. They smelled the wood smoke,
and a dog barked. Beside the frosted window was a door through
which they stumbled; warm air and a pleasant kitchen odor
greeted them. The old man sank down on a bench by the door,
while the lad gaped at the haggard threatening face of a home-
steader.

“We are lost,” he said in Russian. “We want to stay until
sunrise,” pointing at himself and then at Soma, who had slipped
to the floor. “Tomorrow, go home,” he added in English.

The madman pointed to the door. “Tomorrow 1 Home ! Hell 1”
he shouted, coming closer.

The lad, tears in his frightened eyes, knelt down, and, touching
his forehead to the floor, implored that they be allowed to stay.

Their host did not answer, but striding to the stove grasped the
poker.

The lad retreated through the door, dragging Soma after him.

The door slammed, shutting off the patch of lamplight. The
wind went clanmiily through their clothes. It was no longer
snowing, but colder.

“There is a stable. Grandfather,” the boy said. “We will stay
there until morning, slava Bohu!”

Inside the stable was a smell of warm horses and hay, but the
dog was there and he growled and barked. There was a fumbling
at the latdi, and the door squealed open on its frosty hinges. It

MUCH TROUBLE 177

was the homesteader with a steaming lantern in one hand, and
a rifle in the other. Again he drove them into the snow.

The temperature was dropping with the wind, and the moon
gleamed through a rift in the clouds. The frozen crust of snow
tore at their boots with each step, and their clothes scraped to-
gether with a noise like screen wire. Soma could no longer keep
his arm over the lad’s shoulder, and he collapsed in the snow.
“You, my dear, go on, and send for me. It is very nice here.”

The lad carried him for a few zigzagging steps, the old fellow
muttering about the sunrise. Exhausted the young one stumbled
on alone. How he got back to his village, he himself could not
remember.

When the sun rose that morning, men from the village found
Grandfather Soma. His sheepskin hat had been dragged from
his head, and part of his nose was gone.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WHAT TO DO?

BY MAY, 1900, THE LAST SHRUNKEN snowbanks, hid-
ing in the thickets, had melted to swell the water of the sloughs.
Poplar trees, relaxing from April’s sleety winds, stretched their
leafless branches in the sun, and the gray buds of the willows
opened in green. In the sloughs, already fringed with grass, frogs
sang of spring. Crows, ragged and black against the blue sky,
announced it with noisy cawing, and meadow larks welcomed it
in song.

The Dukhobors responded to the spring with optimism. Singing
and hard work, temporarily submerged economic dissension and
millenitun-seeking. Since the frost left the ground, they had been
plowing. They owned more horses and oxen. The government
had advanced money for seed grain, and they sowed it, mostly
by hand, as they had so often done in Russia. Again, younger
men left the villages to find work.

Hospitality of the Dukhobors toward their own and “foreign-
ers” varied in accord with the attitude of inhabitants and elders.
In some villages, strangers, should they pass that way, were wel-
comed with food and lodging. In other villages, even “brothers
and sisters” were not received with enthusiasm.

Like most Thunder Hill people, the inhabitants of Mikhaelovka
village were hospitable. When an Englishman with his wife and
chili&en drove to the opposite bank and beckoned to Dukhobors
to help them across, they launched their ferry in the dangerously
swollen stream. The Englishman understood no Russian, and they
hardly more English th^ “No, yes, good, bad,” but he had little
difficulty in ms^ing them understand he must cross with his
family. First, the Dukhobors took the passengers safely over, then
the horses, and on the third trip brought the democrat. Then they
stood waiting for the Englishman to drive away, but he, thinking
they wished for payment, offered a two-dollar bill.

“Nyet,” said a Dukhobior, shaking his head.

He offered $5, and when they would not accept this, he raised
it to $10. He became annoyed, and followed them into the village
where there was an interpreter, who eiqjlained that they could
not accqpt mon^ for a C^istian act.

WHAT TO DO?

179

“Strange people,” the Englishman remarked to his wife as they
drove away, “I had heard they were tremendously keen on
money.”

In the summer, when the river was lower, an Indian with his
wife and five children in a dilapidated light wagon pulled by one
gaunt horse, became stuck in the river. Some Dukhobor boys ran
to the village for help. Men came with a rope and pulled the
conve 3 rance to the bank. The Indian, as was the custom with his
ancestors, put his hand over his heart and bowed his thanks.
The Duliobors bowed in return, whereupon the Indian bowed
again, one of the Dukhobors remarking that “the Indian bows
almost like a Christian.” By signs the Dukhobors tried to make
the Indian understand that he with his family should come into
the village for a meal But the Indian, possibly because he was
not hungry enough for the ordeal of sitting at a table, spread
his hands over his belly, then pointed to his throat in such a way
as to indicate he was not hungry. While this pantomime was
proceeding, a Dukhobor returned from a near-by house with
potatoes and salt. These practical symbols of good health they put
in the Indian’s democrat, wishing him and his family a good
journey. The Indian and his wife smiled their thanks, he standing
up in the wagon to bow a last farewell.

“Indians are nice people,” Ivan remarked. “They do not steal
or make trouble for anyone. But they would be better if they
would stay on their land.”

“Da. Always they are going somewhere with a horse, and so
they have no time to wash their clothes,” said a woman.

The wild hay crop was good in the summer of 1900. Late in
July and early in August when the sun beat down on the meadows,
men, women and children made hay for winter feed. Near a village
of Thunder Hill Colony lived a Canadian homesteader who be-
came ill and could not stack his hay. He had no help, so it lay
on the ground where it was cut. The Dukhobors heard of his plight
and came with rakes and forks.

When his wife saw them approaching, she thought they had
come to steal the hay, but she did not tell her husband because
he was too ill to get out of bed.

The Dukhobors stacked the hay, and went away again without
going to the house.

Some days went by; the hay was still there. The homesteader
got well and went to the Dukhobor village, thinking they would
want pay for their work. The Dukhobors would accept no mon^.

180

SLAVA BOHU

Something else happened in a meadow. Some Dukhobor chil-
dren were playing in a hayfield near an Irishman’s homestead.
The homesteader’s young son, romping with them in the hay,
was bumped and ran home crying to his father. So enraged was
the father, that these “bohunk” diildren had caused his child to
cry that he rushed to the hayfield. It was deserted except for one
Dukhobor boy who had been there for the romping. The Irishman
kicked this child, and he died from the blow.

The Dukhobor villagers requested Arthur St. John to write
to the North West Mounted Police, asking the authorities not
to punish the homesteader. “We believe he is already punished
by his own conscience,’’ they said. “Already one has been killed
and, to us, it would appear more terrible to take another life ’’

That autumn the Dukhobors harvested their first crop in Can-
ada, small as it was, and faced the winter with more food, clothing
and confidence than they had had a year ago. In the North Sas-
katchewan River Colony, and to a lesser extent in the South
Colony, there was some compliance with the Canadian land laws.
In Thunder Hill, few complied. Zibaroff, who could not write, and
who showed increasing signs of disturbance within himself, op-
posed the signing of papers and making oaths “which might lead
to military conscription.’’ Besides, he feared that compliance with
the Canadian land laws would mean another disintegrating influ-
ence. Despite the opposition to his co-operative store, which had
ceased to function, his influence in Thunder Hill was great. In
the village of Voznesenie where he lived, the villagers voted to
“divide up all the flour now,” instead of keeping any of it in the
communal warehouse. Zibaroff, who saw this as a blow to com-
munal ownership, threatened to move away with his supporters.
The villagers decided to leave the flour in the warehouse.

Bodianski, the educated theorizer and zealot, continued to stir
up the Dukhobors of Thunder Hill and South colonies against
making private property of “God’s earth.” In February, 1901, he
issued an “Address to All People,” in which there was much
disapproval of Canadian laws. Cbpies of the address, signed by
DulAobors, were sent to the governments of many countries,
inquiring, “Whether there is anywhere such a country and such a
human society, where we would be tolerated, and where we could
make our living, without being obliged to break the demands of
conscience and Truth.”

Bodianski, linguist besides Utopia seeker, wrote a special appeal

WHAT TO DO?

181

to the Sultan of Turkey, which a number of Dukhobors signed.
These epistles, in some instances, fotmd their way into newspapers
of various countries, with a result that many idealists took up
their pens in defense of the “simple and God-fearing Russian
peasants who are being persecuted by the Canadian government.”
Bodianski was enjoying himself. Not since he had gone bearded
and barefooted through the East End of London to refuse a
legacy, had he had such an opportunity to draw attention to his
“principles.”

Finally Bodianski tired of the game and— described now by
Dukhobors as “an obstinate old man who always twist things
his own way” — ^left Canada for California, where he had business
interests which added to his monetary wealth.

In California, perhaps soberly reflecting his proseltyzing, he
wrote in a moment of lucidity : “I expect the Dukhobors will in
time have all they need . . . but it will be not till the initiative
comes from men of their own group, prompted to such under-
takings by experience of life. No initiative from outside can
give them anything. No more impenetrable group of people exist
than the Dukhobors.”

The Dukhobors continued to petition the Quakers in England
and the United States and their admirers scattered throughout
the world, “to ask the Tsar to let our brothers and sisters, suffer-
ing in exile in harsh Siberia, come to live peacefully with us in
Canada.” In these petitions they did not disclose that they espe-
cially desired Peter Verigin to come to them. Friends of the
Duldiobors approached Lord Strathcona, high commissioner for
Canada in England, and he discussed with the British government
the feasibility of making representations to Russia for the release
of the exiles. The British embassy at St. Petersburg was instructed
to take up the case. About the same time, a similar request was
made through the Russian consulate in Montreal. But the Tsar’s
government refused to allow the exiles to leave Russia. It prom-
ised, however, that certain wives and children in Canada would
be allowed to settle with their husbands and fathers in the
province of Yakutsk, Siberia.

Gregori Verigin, Peter’s brother, did not wait for the British
government to complete negotiations with the Russian govern-
ment. With Peter Shukin, he escaped from Siberia and boarded
a ship for England. Once there he became frightened that the
English soldiers might discover him to be a fugitive and deliver
him to the soldiers of the Tsar. What to do? By diance, he met

182

SLAVA BOHU

Jukov, a Russian Jew, who heard his story and took him to
Ayhner Maude’s home, where Mrs. Maude, whose admiration
for the peasants and the simple life led her to dress as one, “was
very easy to talk with, and very nice, entertaining us over a
samovar.” In half an hour Maude came home, “a nice man, also
speaking Russian.”

Maude took Gregori and Peter Shukin to London, and pur-
chased transportation for them to Saskatoon, Canada. “We prom-
ised,” Gregori wrote later, “that when we would reach the brothers
in C^ada, we would return his money, but he would not listen
to this.”

In the North Saskatchewan River Colony, where a number of
men had complied with the land laws by filing on quarter sections
individually, Vasili Veraschagin, an elder, commended Canada.

“Here in Canada,” said Vasili, “we believe a man cannot be
left without bread. In the first place, Canada allows full liberty,
and we have been granted freedom from military service. Sec-
ondly, freedom of religious belief is allowed. Yes, and in Canada
there are many different nationalities, and all have full liberty.
Thirdly, in Cmiada, things are, one may say, based on God’s
Law ; for instance the f refold land is sold for about seven cents
an acre.*

“In the fourth place, the Canadian people live very peacefully;
they do not rob or murder one another. Fifthly, in Canada, a plain
workman, working ten hours, earns as much as $1.50 or $2, and
there is much else which might be said.”

But Gregori Makaroff went too far and was frowned on. Not
only did he sign for his quarter section, but he insisted on working
his land himself, refusing altogether to work communally. Besides,
he said that he would send his children to school so that they
would have not only “simple literacy, but a whole education as
well.” Makaroff had brought some money with him to Canada,
together with rich Turkish carpets from the city of Kars ; now
he supplemented his shrewdness with a calculating independence
that provoked the North Saskatchewan River people. He would
not take his “share” of donations sent by Quakers and others.
The only communal thing he continued to do was to live in the
village of Petrofka on the rolling wooded banks of the winding
Saskatchewan River.

* A reference to the government homestead fee of $io per one hundred
and sixty acres.

WHAT TO DO?

183

“No-Dukhobor, kulak,” the villagers called him, following him
to his field and unhitching his horses three times. But Gregori
Makarotf, broad-backed, blue-eyed, with a slight stoop like the
droop of his mustaches, hitched his horses again and went on
with his work. Not to be a soldier, not to smoke tobacco ; to have
borsch soup and the Ruski banya — ^these things were all that he
could have in common with the Christian Community of Universal
Brotherhood.

The North Saskatchewan River folk went as far south as Saska-
toon to purchase supplies. The town had a population of about
one hundred people. James Qinkskill, leading merchant there,
could not spe^ a word of Russian, but he had traded with the
Indians at Battleford and understood their sign language. Thus
when a Dukhobor came into the store, put his two forefingers
to his head like horns on a cow, went through the motion of
milking, then poured the imaginary milk into an imaginary pail
and churned it, Clinkskill knew the man wanted to buy butter.
He fotmd them honest, but hard bargainers. They must have
been accustomed to bartering, he thought, for they invariably
said “too much,” offering to pay half the price asked.

Mrs. Eliza H. Varney, the Quaker who volunteered her services
as nurse among the Dukhobors in 1899, was in 1900 joined by her
niece. Miss Nellie Baker of Toronto. The two women lived in a
tent in the South Colony. In an adjacent tent, Nellie Baker opened
a school to which came a few children. Nellie Baker knew no
Russian, and at first the children could not speak English, but
she found them apt pupils.

In the summer of 1902, Joseph Elkington, son of the older
Quaker who met the first shipload of Dukhobors at Halifax,
visited the people. The younger Elkington was greatly impressed
with their hospitality, kindliness, and truly Christian spirit. “A
people who wifi not fight, or steal, or drink an 3 dhing intoxicating,
or smoke, or use profane language, or lie, have a character whiA
will bring forth the best qualities of Christian citizenship,” he
wrote the following year in his book The Doukhobors. He foimd
“false teachings” among them which, he attributed, in part, to
“their ignorance of the Bible.”

In 1^2 Michael Sherbinin, was still teaching school in the
North Saskatchewan River Colony, and Nurse Boyle was there.
Helen Morland of England taught school in the South Colony.

Bodianski’s book. New Chapters of the Dukhobor Epic, written
under the name of P. A. Tverskoy, received wide publicity in

184

SLAVA BOHU

Russia. In it, he insinuated that Prince Hilkov and McCreary,
the immigration commissioner, had stolen the government bonus
fimd of $35,000, which should have gone to the Dukhobors. These
and other irresponsible allegations were avidly read in Russia by
“friends” of the Dukhobors and officials of the Tsarist govern-
ment. The “friends” were able to continue thinking of the Duk-
hobors as “Christian mart 3 o:s,” even in Canada, while Russian
officials were pleased to say, “We did not treat them so badly.
See what is happening to them in Canada.”

Christian mailyrdom stories appeared in French, Scandinavian,
Swiss, Turkish and German periodicals. Christians, Jews, Turks
and ardent saviors of various cults, sects, creeds and isms, wrote
epistles of condolence and advice to the Dukhobors, asking for
letters in return. The few Dukhobors who could write in Russian
were pressed into replying. Imaginative stores were, from time
to time, published in whole or reflected in English newspapers,
causing indignant epistles against the Canadian government.

This was a brand of fantasia and intrigue in which Canadian
politicians were unschooled. They knew how to “plug” a school-
house meeting, how to involve railways in politics, how to manage
a number of things familiar to themselves, but they were as much
at a loss to unravel the Dukhobor enigma as the average Rotarian,
Orangeman or bank manager would be at penetrating the “soul
of India.”

Harley, immigration agent at Swan River, had been sent to the
Thunder Hill village of Voznesenie, on December 28, 1901, in
a fruitless attempt to persuade the men between the ages of
eighteen and sixty to sign individually for quarter sections of
land. According to a Dukhobor version of the meeting, “the
oflicial became so angry that he trembled all over, bounced on
his chair, sa 3 ring: ‘Have you come here to alter the laws of
Canada?’ ”

“If you,” rqplied the Dukhobor spokesman, “cannot alter your
own selfish human laws, it is many times more hard and terrible
for us to alter the Laws of God.”

The official thought awhile and again became angry, “and
so we went on for five hours ...” and “so we drove away;
not knowing what will come of it all.”

Vladimir Tchertkov, Tolstoy’s nominee in England, who had
assured the Canadian government that the Dukhobors would prove
excellent settlers, and who was conversant with the Canadian laws,
now published a Handbook and sent copies to the Dukhobors in

WHAT TO DO?

185

Canada. Tchertkov’s Handbook in Russian and English languages
was to help them leam English and guide them in their morals.
The Dukhobors received its contents with great interest. A few
excerpts follow:

We think there ought not to exist any private property of land.
In our opinion, land, like air and water, should be for the use of all.
He owns the land, who, for the time being is working it. . . . On the
land question many and learned people have written and disputed
much. . . . About flie land question it is useful to read the writings
of two men — the American Henry George, and our Russian Leo
Tolstoy.

... the registration of marriages, births and deaths. Do you
promise always to fulfill this? We are quite willing to answer
accurately when asked. But we cannot promise anything. A promise
is the same as an oath. Christ said, “Do not swear.” A man must
be free.

All governments are based on violence. They are upheld by armies,
law courts, prisons and police.

Tchertkov (on Pages 49 to 52 of this Handbook) eulogized
the North American Indians, blaming Europeans for their down-
fall:

There was a time when the Indians were a great and powerful
people. They had great intellectual development, and the rules of their
morality were very elevated . . .

Tchertkov’s Handbook added to the confusion among the Duk-
hobors, but Verigin’s Letters (some fifty-five letters by and to
Peter Vasilivich Verigin and subsequently collected by Vladimir
Bonch-Bruivich, who had them published in Russian language
by the Ukrainian Press, Geneva, Switzerland), were much more
effective. Verigin had not written these letters as a guide to his
followers. Many of the epistles he had composed, when having
little else to do, to Russian intellectuals, dreamers, millenium-
seekers, and zealots of one kind and another.

However, in the summer of 1902, neatly bound volumes of
Bonch-Bruivich’s Verigm’s Letters reached the faithful in Canada.

“Pravda,” a zealot declared, “this is the way Petushka has
found to tell us all what to do. He could not write to us directly
from Sibirski, because the Tsar wotdd find out everything. But

186

SLAVA BOHU

he has asked Grandfather Leo Nikolaivich Tolstoy’s followers
to send us this book.”

With avid reverence the faithful pored over Peter Verigin’s
abstractions, planning forthwith to put into practice “his word.”

In the North Saskatchewan River Colony they came to the
conclusion “it is wrong to kill our brothers, the gophers,” even
though these prairie rodents ate their grain. So men and women
sat patiently by the gopher holes with string snares, and lassoed
the little animals; afterwards taking them in boats across the
river where they were given their “freedom” in the Mennonite
settlement.

This way of overcoming the problem of protecting their crops,
while not taking life, seemed hardly fair to their old neighbors,
the Mennonites, whose migration to Canada had, in 1872, inaug-
urated the Canadian order in council allowing freedom from
military service to conscientious objectors.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PILGRIMAGE

VASILI OBEDKOFF, the mild mannered muzhik whom
Peter Verigin had once chosen as his devoted man Friday in exile,
was called upon in 1902, by the small group of zealots to assist
in the revelation of Verigin's Letters. After much discussion, he
and Ivan Ponamaroff, who also had visited Peter in exile, became
apostles. From village to village they went, announcing the
approaching millenium, explaining “what Petushka wishes us to
do.”

A composite theme in Peter’s letters, most appealing to Vasili
and Ivan, was the existence of a promised land, the “Kingdom
of God,” wherein the climate was so inviting that all who could
reach there would become true Christians living in brotherly and
sisterly love in the Spirit of Christ.

In that promised land, somewhere to the south, natural fruits
grow on vines and trees ever green. So abundantly do these fruits
grow that it is not necessary to “enslave our poor brothers, the
animals,” in puUing plows, because plows in that place are not
necessary. Also, it is unnecessary to keep cows for milk and
butter, the luscious fruits providing a variety of food. No animals
need ever be killed, because leather boots and sheepskin coats are
not necessary there. Even for men and women to work at physical
labor is not necessary. Governments, land laws, taxes, schools and
mosquitoes are not there. Little is necessary — except contempla-
tion of higher things amidst the living of a truly spiritual life,
in harmony with the evergreen fruit trees, gentle rains and
sunshine.

How to reach this Kingdom of God?

“We should begin now to live our lives as if we had already
found it,” proclaimed Vasili Obedkoff. “Have faith; then God
will guide us to His promised land. He will care for us along the
way, no matter how far we must travel.”

In every village of the South and Thunder Hill colonies there
was much discussion and argument, some inhabitants openly favor-
ing an immediate trek in Ae direction of the Kingdom of God.

“There is nothing to stay here for,” said Melosha. “We have

187

188

SLAVA BOHU

trouble among the brothers, we do not agree about how to work
and how to divide everything. Here is no Christian Community
of Universal Brotherhood, and some day the government will
take our land from us because we will not bow down to Satan’s
laws.”

“But possibly,” said Efrem, “Petushka means if we could
free the earth from violence here, this would become the promised
land and we would not have to go away to another far-off place?”

“Ne pravda, not true,” said Ivan Ponamaroff, “it is not possible
to have a Kingdom of God where the earth is ruled by a man-
made government.”

Yet Ponamaroff was not a man to leave everything to Faith
and Gk)d. Into his exhortations he injected a note of politics, say-
ing “that if all the brothers and sisters would unite in one bolshoi
pilgrimage for the promised land, the Canadian government, see-
ing this, will surely transport us to a warmer country.”

In some villages the majority of the inhabitants were so opposed
to seeking the promised land at the risk of losing their hard-won
homes, that they chased the apostles away. But ever3rwhere the
venture was being argued over, even in the North Saskatchewan
River Colony where there was least sympathy with it.

The South Colony village of Truzdenia became a center for
the movement, and Alex Mikhaelovich Mahortoff became a lead-
ing zealot. Disillusioned with the failure of the communes, Alex
saw the “advice” in Peter’s letters as a solution to surrounding
evils. But he was for careful planning, and when some hundred
brothers and sisters, in whom had entered the “true Spirit of
Christ,” met in the village, he wanted to ask the government “to
allow us to drive our animals with us south to a warmer climate
where thqr will have their freedom, too, and without suffering
from harsh winters.” The animals were not responsible for being
in this climate; they had not come of their own accord. They
were brought here by humans, said Alex.

“Da,” agreed Grandmother Polia, “it would be much better
to take the animals with us to the Kingdom of God. It would be
very good, for then I could ride there in a wagon. I am sure it is
too far to walk.”

“People who wish to be ‘Sons of God’ must give freedom to
all creation,” Mahortoff continued. “So far all creatures have
groaned under harsh hands and are only waiting for the ‘Sons
of God’ to free them.”

And so the zealots interpreted, speculated and evangelized.

PILGRIMAGE

189

To quote in full the involved and verbose philosophizing in
Verigin's letters from which they drew their inspiration, would
require several chapters. Thus brief quotations are confined to
abridged excerpts.

Verigin, in his letters, had questioned man's right to enslave
animals. He had written :

It is important for me to know ; in order to live rightly . . . should
we keep cattle? . . . For it is very natural that if fruits exist, man
should feed on them. That is my ultimate conviction ... In another
letter, I admit the possibility of advising not to work physically,
and yet be sufRciently fed — obtain first the Kingdom of Heaven,
and kll the rest will be added unto you . . . people should begin to
preach Peace and Goodwill . . . the earth freed from the violence
of human hands, would begin to abound with all that is ordained
for it. . . . And humanity, together with the spiritual stature lost by
Adam and Eve, would regain an earthly paradise . . .

I think that the nearer we individuily may be to the sun, the
better it will be in all respects ... I consider the proper place of
residence to be . . . where the sun, sending its beneficent beams on
all that lives, at the same time will influence the brain of man with its
vital energy. Man employing food raised by an abundance of solar
heat, as for instance, raspberries, strawberries, and in general, so
to say, tender fruits — ^his organism will be formed as it were, of
energy itself, because tender fruits, I suppose, contain in themselves
very much, as it^jwere, of compressed solar ether, that is to say,
warmth energy. . . . Feeding on food that grows, and, as far as pos-
sible, on fruits, I see to be advantageous already in this respect, that
I shall consume into myself more solar heat, which is energy. And in
consequence of that I hope even to be wiser.

Mahortoff and his disciples, in accord with the tradition of
secrecy concerning “advice” from their ruler, did not expose the
source of their inspiration when they wrote to the government
for permission to trek to a warmer climate.

E^rly in August, while they awaited a reply, they collected
■ their horses, oxen, cattle and sheep, and brought Aem to a pasture
near the village of Truzdenia. To make sure that none of the
uninspired brothers would “enslave” them in work, they appointed
“Sons of God” to guard them day and night.

When government officials, perplexed with proceedings, sent
word “the Sons of God” would not be allowed to trek with their
animals to a warmer climate, the zealots were neither unduly
surprised nor disappointed. They had anticipated such a reply.

190

SLAVA BOHU

What else could be expected of the man-made government?
Petushka had written in one of his letters: “True Christianity
from time immemorial has been persecuted, because it is harmful
to any and every governmental structure.”

The sons and daughters of God, after more discussion, decided
the next best thing would be to drive the animals into the forest,
some one hundred miles distant, “where they would have their
freedom.” This they did, to the dismay of the uninspired Dukho-
bors, who called them mad.

“It is not we who are mai; it is yo« who are had" replied the
Sons of God. “You have not allowed the true word to enter you.”

While the zealots, growing in numbers in many villages, dis-
cussed what next to do, the government sent men on horseback
into the forest to round up the animals. The livestock, consisting
of two hundred and eighty-five cattle, one hundred and twenty
horses and ninety-five sheep, was sold at public auction, the money
from the sale being credited to the Dukhobors’ land account under
the Homestead Act. What particularly disgusted the “mad” broth-
ers was that the “bad” ones purchased “the animals that we
allowed to go free in the forest.”

In Verigin’s Letters, there was a lengthy epistle to a non-
Dukhobor theory weaver : “To agree to all the demands of Cae-
sar’s ‘organizations,’ means to take part in their doings; and their
doings we see are not good. Money we consider ourselves bound
to return to them ... as much as they may demand . . . because
these tokens are devised by them.”

A number of the zealots decided that in accord with this
“advice” they must “render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s.”
The nearest agent of the inunigration department “being also
Caesar’s nearest representative,” they handed over their money
to him. The money was credited to the Dukhobors’ land accoimt
under the Homestead Act.

The true sons and daughters of freedom decided everything
made from leather must be destroyed. So they brought their boots,
fur coats, harness and horse collars to appointed places and burned
“these unnecessary things,” just as they had burned their guns
and swords in Caucasia. Now they wore only rubbers on their
feet, and many went barefooted, preaching through the villages.
Next, the men cut the metal hoolre from their clothing and women
threw their needles into the stoves. Had not Verigin meant that
men tormented in mines could not lead a peaceful and tranquil

PILGRIMAGE 191

life? Therefore in using the iron from the mines “we will never
free ourselves from contemporary civilization.”

Many of the zealots decided that all work was sinful, for Veri-
gin had written: . . and we see that Christ did no physical

work, nor did the Apostles ... In order to be true followers of
Christ, it is chiefly necessary to go out and preach the Gospel of
truth, and one may beg bread for the body. Remember that the
Apostles, passing through the field ‘plucked the ears of corn and
ate.’ If any wish to labor, let them do so ; but our duty is to labor
only in Christ’s service . . . And if it is supposed that such a life
is only possible for a limited number of people — ^that again is
incorrect. Is it conceivable that Christ called the Apostles to such
a life and then, seeing the whole or the half of humanity follow-
ing, would have said ‘No, there are too many of you?’ Perfection,
or holiness, cannot be regarded as only meant for exceptional
people ; it is the portion of every man.”

Burning horse collars, going barefooted and growing beards
became too much for Vasili Obedkoff. He, who had been among
the first zealots, now questioned these things that were being done.
Without physical labor he saw disaster ahead, instead of the
promised knd.

“God said,” said Vasili, “by the sweat of our brows we must
earn our daily bread How is it possible to go against Grod’s law
and yet find the Kingdom of Heaven?”

“That is not what Petushka has written,” replied Ilarion, lug-
ging his boots, a set of harness and an axe to the fire. “You are
not true to our leader. No one knows better than Petushka.”

“But Petushka also wrote that he himself works at physical
labor,” Vasili protested. “If you burn everything, how then will
we live?” In the wrinkles of Vasili’s forehead there was sweat,
and his eyes were tired and frightened.

“These things,” said Ilarion, shaking the harness as if it was
a snake, “are things of the Devil, and must be burned as we
burned our guns in Caucasia. If you want to desert us for Satan,
that is your business, not mine.”

What Vasili Obedkoff said about Peter Verigin’s letters, was
equally true. Peter had written : “I am writing a very short letter
because my time is taken up in physical labor ...” In another
letter : “Our blacksmith was arrested, a great man, I several times
worked in his shop as a sledgehammer man , .

And in other letters, Peter had stressed the need for physical
labor. These epistles, along with those in which he decried all

192

SLAVA BOHU

physical labor, were in the same book. But Obedkoff met with
little success in his attempts to offset one letter against another.
Verigin’s letters, like the Holy Bible itself, seemed to provide
premises for argument for and against everything. Unable to stem
the rising tide of the movement, Obedkoff withdrew. The “mad”
brothers told him the Spirit of Christ had left him; the “bad”
brothers accused him of starting “this idea of freedom, which will
be the ruin of us all.”

Nikolai Zibaroff, seeing much of the result of his struggle for
economic security in ashes, broke down and wept like a child. For
almost a week he barely spoke to anyone. Could he have been
wrong when he urged the young men to work on the railway
grades and in lumber camps? Had he been wrong when he had
insisted that money must be earned to buy horses, harness, axes,
spades, needles, boots ?

Understanding dawned on him. He had been in unconscious
opposition to God; he had been wilful and reasoning when he
should have had faith. Faith in God! Faith in Christ! Faith in
Petushka! Now, slava Bohu, Nikolai Zibaroff saw the light which
would reveal the true way to the Kingdom of God !

To the great joy of the zealots and the dismay of the anti-
zealots, Zibaroff threw himself into the movement for freedom
and the promised land in earnest. Before the middle of September,
four himdred men, women, and children, led by Zibaroff, marched
southward from Thunder Hill Colony. As they approached each
village they sang and shouted “let us all go to the promised land.”
Even the “bad” villages, curious to see and hear these “mad”
ones, fed the pilgrims, who carried no provisions. At every village
more converts joined the march, in some cases whole villages being
abandoned in an afternoon; in others only a few inhabitants
joined the surging, singing, preaching throng.

When the pilgrims reached the outskirts of Poterpevshi village,
of the South Colony, where Peter Verigin’s mother Anastasia and
her son Gregori resided, their numbers had grown to 1,700.

Headed by Gregori Verigin, the Poterpevshi villagers went
forth to meet them. After exchange of formal greetings and slava
Bohus, Gregori asked, “Where are you going?”

“Let us all go to the promised land,” said a pilgrim.

Gregori remonstrated that the promised land might be very
far away, and how could they hope to get there, especially with
so many very young children and very old grandparents? Gregori,
according to a letter he wrote to Aylmer Maude, quoted from

PILGRIMAGE 193

Holy Scripture in an effort to show the people that what they
were doing “is not good, it is even sinful.”

But the pilgrims were resolute. No one other than Peter Verigin
could have turned them back now. Gregori, who, Verigin-like,
had done little or nothing to enlighten the credulous, now found
himself confronted with Sie ready-tnade answers that his brother
had instructed the faithful to use in reply to questions put by
“foreigners.”

“Have you an elder among you who, possibly, tells you to
behave like this ?” Gregori inquired.

“We have no elders, none among us is greater than another,”
replied a voice from out of the assemblage.

“Each one of us decided for ourselves, in accord with what
his conscience tells him is right,” said another.

“And we did not come here to see you,” said a woman to
Gregori who was still smarting under the rebuke.

“No,” said a lean- faced pilgrim, “nor do we want food or a
place to stay the night, but before we go we wish to see the
‘Mother of God.’ ”

Peter Verigin’s mother, wrinkled and approaching eighty, had
aged since the days in Caucasia when she was only Anastasia
Verigina, close friend and relative of Lukeria Kalmikova. But
time is advantageous to belief in a “Mother of God.” Old age,
like an owl in the sun, may appear wise in its silence.

They said good-bye to her, and moved on, taking a scattering
of men and women from Poterpevshi village. South toward York-
ton they marched, carrying their sick and aged on stretchers made
from poplar poles and gray blankets. Plowed fields over which
they passed were tramped to powder. On stubble fields, yellow
before they crossed, they spread out to gather stray heads of
wheat . . . “remember that the Apostles, passing through the field,
‘plucked the ears of com and ate.’ ”

Non-Dukhobor homesteaders came out to gaze in wonder at
this strange procession; to fear what these people might do; to
jeer; to pity. But the pilgrims appeared not to notice. As tliey
passed through a lane of gaunt poplar trees, the fallen leaves
rustled in their steps like a great sighing, and their voices rose
in a psalm of melancholy longing. Prairie chickens in the line of
march whirred out of reach. At times rabbits led the procession
for a few yards, hopping out of sight. There were shouts of,
“The Kingdom of God. . . . The promised land. . . . Slava Bohu !”

In a dump of trees to which a few yellow leaves still dung.

194

SLAVA BOHU

a flock of blackbirds sang with noisy e^ectancy of “going south.”

“We also are free like the birds,” said Ivan, “and we are going
to the sunny land, but we will stay there, not returning in the
spring.”

“Skva Bohu,” said Semon, “but I wish we too had wings like
the birds ; my feet are very sore.”

A baby was bom, and one child died before they reached
Yorkton on October 28. At the outskirts of the town they were
met by North West Mounted Police who had instructions to herd
the entire pilgrimage into Yorkton’s Immigration Hall, where
puzzled government representatives were to persuade them to
return home. Thr^gh the streets they went, the red-coated police-
men riding alongswi^them, the town’s population of seven hundred
or more following on the sidewalks.

Little tots hanging onto their mothers’ skirts saw a railway
train and red grain elevators for the first time. Some prattled with
laughter at these wonders; others, too tired to be interested, cried
quietly to themselves.

Wails of fear and dismay and much weeping arose from the
women when they were herded into the Immigration Hall and
other buildings provided by the government. Outside, a govern-
ment representative, speaking in Russian, told the men that as
soon as they returned to their farms their wives and children
would be released to them.

“It is not right that you should keep our sisters and children,”.,
protested Zibaroff, the light of hysteria in his eyes.

“Free them! Free them!” shouted Mahortoff, “and we will
all go the place where it is possible to live on fruits without having
to enslave our brothers, the animals.”

But the government would not free the sisters. Policemen
tried, and not roughly so, to herd the men out of Yorkton, while
about sixty Dukhobors, non-pilgrims who had followed the pil-
grimage, argued with their brothers that they should return to
their villages. But most of the men would hear nothing; they had
set out for the promised land, and they would rea<£ it. Forty
miles from Yorkton near Chur Abridge, a drizzling rain overtook
them. Behind them they had left little piles of blankets, coats, hats
and boots. In the ditches they grazed on seed pods of wild rose
bushes, leaves, grass, anything of vegetable nature. The sun came
out again, drying the clothes on their shivering bodies. At times
they left the railway track to glean stray heads of wheat from the
stubble.

PILGRIMAGE

195

Some Canadian fanners and townsmen along the line of march,
gave them bread and potatoes ; others, of various national back-
grounds, cursed “these mad ‘bohunks,’ and the government that
let them into this country.”

“Why?” “Why?” the spectators asked. “Why are they doing
this? Where are they going?”

Speers, and the other government men who followed to keep
the pilgrims under surveillance, continued to ask why.

“Why did you not keep your boots ?” asked Speers of Nikolai
Zibaroff.

“Jesus had no boots,” Zibaroff replied.

“But your feet will get cold. Winter will soon be here,” insisted
the kindly immigration agent.

“Jesus keeps my feet warm,” Zibaroff persisted.

The weather was fine, the nights unusually warm for the end
of October. Many pilgrims thought God had extended the summer
until such time as Aey would reach the promised land, but a num-
ber, exhausted and ^sillusioned, turned back to their villages.
Still more might have done so if a gaunt and hollow-cheeked
pilgrim had not been visited by a “revelation.” Wild-eyed, and
clutching the air, he said he tad seen Peter Verigin, who had
said, “Have faith. Go on; I will be in the promised land to greet
you.”

On November 3, after a march of five days in which they had
walked eighty miles, the weather changed. Riding on a bitter
northeast wind came sleet, then snow. Somehow they huddled
together at nights with few blankets or coats and were mostly
able to rise in the morning to continue their march. In the next
three days they covered seventy miles, reaching Minnedosa, where
they were offered a temporary haven in the skating rink. On
Sunday afternoon a special train came with North West Mounted
Police aboard it. Speers, the immigration agent, addressed the
Dukhobors and ask^ them to return to their homes.

“No,” replied one, “the time has not come to return. We are
going on to the promised land.”

However, when Speers, whom the Dukhobors liked more than
th^ did most “foreigners” and government men, started from the
rink, some two hundred pilgrims followed him out. At first it
seemed as if they would follow him to the train, but they attempted
to go in the opposite direction. Their path was blocked by police
and spectators. Speers, taking one pilgrim by the arm, walked
him toward the waiting train and shouted over his shoulder that

196

SLAVA BOHU

the Others should follow. Farmers, merchants, railway men, a par-
son, anyone who happened to be among the hundreds of spectators,
took a pilgrim by the arm and walked him to the railway station.
Some went placidly enough, others had to be pushed and shoved,
a few were carried, but none abandoned his code of nonviolence.

ZibaroflE, resisting stubbornly, was lifted into a wagon and
held there muttering, his eyes rolling like a steer’s on the way to
a slaughter-house. Those remaining in the rink, about two hundred
and fifty, less anxious to continue the hard pilgrimage, went to
the train with little persuasion. Once settled in the warm coaches,
aU resigned themselves to returning home to their villages. Their
women and children were there already, waiting for them. What
puzzled them most about the “Anglichani” and the "politsiaf"
was that “these people believe in governments, yet they do not
strike us with whips as in Russia.” The “Englishmen” and
“policemen” themselves were puzzled by the Diddiobors; “not
one of them lifted a hand to strike us when we stopped their march
and took them to the train.”

It had been an event for Minnedosa, something to talk about
besides the price of wheat, railway expansion, politics, cricket, polo
and the weather. Amidst the jokes and deprecations, there was
evident among the spectators a sympathy “for these Dukhobors
with their odd ideas, who seem so keen on their cause, whatever
that may be.”

The train left at six o’clock that evening. From Yorkton to
their villages most of the returning pilgrims walked. A few who
suffered from colds, malnutrition, spiritual distress, were taken
back in wagons.

In the viSages, again in the presence of the “bad” brothers, the
“mad” ones tried to appear nonchalant, but many felt sheepish.
“It is because you did not join us that we failed,” said one.

As winter set in amidst the dissension and uncertainty of the
village life, rumors continued to circulate that Peter Verigin was
on his way from Siberia.

“Anutka,” said Efrem to his wife, “where did those needles
come from, those you are darning with? Did you not bum every-
thing of steel before we started for the promised land? . . . And
those leather boots ?”

“Da,” Anutka said, “I nearly burned everything. But a few
things I put away in case we might need them.”

“Tak,” said Efrem.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

KRISTOS LEAVES SIBERIA

THE DUKHOBOR PILGRIMAGE in search of the prom-
ised land, contrasted against the less lurid background of every-
day life on the prairie, provided opportunity for political parti-
sanship and sensational journalism. English-language Canadian
newspapers, more especially those supporting the Conservative
party in opposition to the Liberal government at Ottawa, pub-
lished factually inaccurate reports, supplemented with editorial
attacks on the Liberals in general and Clifford Sifton, minister
of the interior, in particular. Sifton was the man held mainly
responsible for bringing to Canada “these mad Russian peasants”
and “fanatics in sheepskin coats.” Even the French-language
newspapers of Quebec showed interest in the West.

A reporter for the Manitoba Free Press, who accompanied the
pilgrims along the railway track, wrote an accurate account of
their abortive journey. In Sunday editions of United States
dailies, the “facts” became convenient skeletons for literary oma-
tions illustrated with “artist’s conceptions.” One of the most fac-
tual reports, however, appeared in the New York World.

Newspapers in England, prior to the strange pilgrimage, had
said very little of Dukhobors. Now too, they carried stories about
these peculiar people, who, given a haven in Canada, were making
a doubtful success of the experiment in practical philanthropy.
The Tsar’s press was pleased to prove that Duliobors were
hopeless fanatics, that they had always been so, and that it was
therefore not surprising that the imperial government had
occasionally been forced to adopt disciplinary measures in deal-
ing with the Dukhobors “for their own good.”

Bodianski, “God’s Truth” purveyor, whose visit to the Dukho-
bors had helped prepare them for the pilgrimage, Tchertkov,
self-appointed cardinal of Tolstoyanism, and various votaries of
the “right way of life,” had publicized the Dukhobors in Turkey,
France, Sweden, Germany, and other countries. Thus the way
was prepared for stories of the pilgrimage even more preposterous
than was the trek itself. Because of the Dukhobors’ traditional

197

198

SLAVA BOHU

secrecy concerning their ruler, no mention was made of the part
played by Verigin’s Letters.

Vladimir Tchertkov, in England, anxious to maintain his eccen-
tric prestige while continuing his pose as oracle in all things
DukhoW, explained the cause of the pilgrimage to an audience
in Essex Hall, November 26. He said, in part :

The Doukhobors felt that the material prosperity that they had
met was threatening their spiritual development. . . . They thought to
fed a milder climate where agricultural operations more suited to
their genius would be possible, especially where gardening could be
carried on without the need of employing animals. They regarded it
as wrong for men to own land as individuals. The Doukhobors feel-
ing that they were not wanted by the Government . . . thought it
more proper and courteous to withdraw, before the officials were
put to necessity of evicting them . . .

A doubter in the audience asked Tchertkov to explain how the
Dukhobors proposed to live without any form of government.

“That,” replied Mr. Tchertkov, “is very simple. Under except-
ional difficulties, 15,000 Dukhobors so lived in Russia for fifty
years, during which time there was not one single crime among
them.”

“And they had no leader?”

“No, they had no leader. None among them was greater than
another,” said Tchertkov. He did not mention his Handbook
which he had so assiduously prepared in the Russian language and
sent to the Dukhobors prior to the pilgrimage.

The Quakers of Philadelphia, who had helped the Dukhobors
to buy horses, horse collars and boots, were nonplussed by the
sudden and strange abandonment of these things. Joseph Elking-
ton, so favorably impressed by the Dukhobors during his visit
among them a few weeks before they began their search for the
promised land, was in the midst of writing his book extolling
their Christian virtues when he heard about their imexpected
behavior. What could have come over these kindly, truthful,
simple, hospitable Christian people? — for that was the way he
had found them. Someone outside of themselves must have
misguided them. That was the explanation of it They, Elkington
wrote in his book, “have been deluded by a religious fanatic —
not originally of their communion — ^who has pos^ as a prophet,
and has taught that the use of animals as beasts of burden is
unscriptural, and that Jesus would soon come again in person.”

KRISTOS LEAVES SIBERIA

199

It would seem that Elkington blamed Bodianski for the trek.
But the truthful Dukhobors failed to divulge to Elkington that
Peter Verigin was Jesus Christ in person to the more credulous
brothers and sisters.

Tolstoy — the less anxious to use human beings as guinea pigs
by which to test the validity of social theories than were his
apostles — ^was far from pleased with the pilgrimage. In a talk
with Aylmer Maude he expressed disappointment and apprehen-
sion concerning the extremes to which the Sons of God were
going.

Maude’s objective mind would not allow him to accept the
various “reasons” put forth to justify the pilgrimage, with the
result that he delved into the mysteries of Dukhobor Government,
later writing his conclusions in his conscientious and informa-
tive book : “Personally my only regret is to have helped,
however unwittingly, to mislead the Canadian government or
anyone else. By this book, in which I do public penance, I try to
atone for that blunder. How it occurred, I have already explained.”
(How Maude had been led to believe that the Dukhobors sect
was a collective sainthood.)

Herbert Archer, the Englishman, who, with the several other
English and Russian admirers of the Dukhobors had come to
Canada to live with them, was now the sole remaining member
of those would-be mentors. Disillusioned, Archer had become
cynical. In a bitter letter to Maude, he saw one motive of the pil-
grimage as an attempt to “so inconvenience the Canadian gov-
ernment that it would concede their demands as to the land ques-
tion and registration. . . . The sect, because it is a sect, is self-cen-
tered, self-righteous, and intolerant. . . . Individuals perceive this,
but the mass are submerged.” *

The Quakers continued their efforts to have Peter Vasilivich
Verigin released from Siberian exile. This literate, quiet-man-
nered and practical man might be of help to his own people, they
thought. Officials of the Canadian government, some of whom
had an inkling that Peter Verigin was something of a leader,
hoped that his arrival in Canada might induce the Dukhobors to
grow wheat on the prairie, instead of looking for Christ on it.

At last, late in November of 1902, the British embassy at St.
Petersburg was informed that Peter Verigin was on his way from

♦ Most of Archer’s records are not available. His notes and he himself
were destroyed when, a few years later, his shack burned to the ground.

200

SLAVA BOHU

Obdorsk, Siberia, to Moscow, and in due course would be allowed
to leave the empire of the tsars forever.

News of the long-expected liberation was received with great
joy and excitement by the faithful in Canada. So that their
leader would have funds, they remitted sums of $1,000 to each of
five towns in Russia through which he might pass.

Tolstoy met Verigin on the same Moscow station platform
where eight years before he had been unable to see him on his way
to Siberia. Tolstoy, seventy-four, almost toothless now, his gray
beard yet more flowing, was unaware of the way in which his
philosophy, even his very words and phrases, had reached the
Dukhobors in Caucasia. Far be it from Peter to enlighten him,
nor could he explain the pilgrimage.

Tolstoy, despite his zeal for principles he accepted as true, had
no wish to see human beings in mass “sacrificed on the altar of
abstract theory.” This he tried to impress on Verigin, giving
him moderate counsel, but Peter, listening politely, shrugged his
shoulders.

“Leo Nikolaivich,” he said, “I do not know about the con-
ditions in Canada. I am only one of the brothers, and I have no
authority over the people, each one of whom uses his own con-
science to decide what is best. But I, dear Leo Nikolaivich, will
give them your message, because I know they love you as a brother
in Christ” With sudi poise did Peter act his part, the piercing
eyes of Leo Nikolaividi Tolstoy had no perceptible effect on
ham.

When Verigin reached England in December, Tchertkav had
arranged a large meeting of welcome for him. Tchertkov, as
chairman, opened the meeting with a speech extolling 'the virtues
of Dukhobors, stressing the suffering “that this our brother in
Christ, Peter Verigin, who for his principles of truth has suf-
fered long in exile, and who will speak to you now in Russian
language, even more eloquently than I could hope to in English.”

Verigin rose from his chair, his massive figure and easy grace
impressing his audience even before he spoke. His height, bearded
handsome face, Russian shirt of white silk belted at the waist,
high black boots ; his voice, soothing, stimulating, like an organ ;
what does it matter if this eloqu«it man cannot speak English?

Verigin sat down amidst applause. Tchertkov, bearded and
booted also, translated Verigin’s speech. He had expressed a deep
gratitude for the co-operation of the friends of the Dukhobors in
England. It was very kind of the Anglidiani to allow the Dukho-

KRISTOS LEAVES SIBERIA

201

bors a home in their country Canada. Mr. Verigin was very
grateful to God to be on his way to join the brothers. Praise God.

Tchertkov then read an address in which he “explained” Dukho-
bor principles of vegetarianism and the pilgrimage, in much
the same way as he had explained it at a previous meeting:
“Concerning the statements made by newspaper correspondents
^bout the words of some of the DulAobors, that is very easy to
explain. The Dukhobors’ sermons seemed strange to others,
because the Dukhobors were speaking in a symbolic language.
Not understanding the spirit which motivates these people, 5ie
correspondents naturally received the wrong impression.”

The meeting passed a resolution to agitate in the press and
elsewhere for a more tolerant attitude toward the Dukhobors.
Several members of the London Liberal Society were in the
audience, and they wished to ask questions of Peter Verigin
through an interpreter. Tchertkov granted this request.

“You consider yourself a follower of Christ,” began a man
addressing Verigin, “and you say it is not right to kill animals for
food. But we are told in the New Testament that Christ himself
ate fish and drowned 2,000 pigs after driving evil spirits into
>lhem. How is that compatible with vegetarianism?”

Verigin’s Tartar-shaped eyelids came together, ever so slightly,
as Tchertkov relayed the question to him. If he had had no beard,
those in the front seats might have seen an ironical smile on his
lips.

“According to our understanding and belief,” Tchertkov
interpreted after Verigin had spoken, “Christ was a man living
some 2,000 years ago. We think he only opened a door to truth,
'leaving us freedom to progress still further.”

This reply impressed Sie liberals with Verigin’s courageous
intellectualism.

“I was at one time a vegetarian,” began a second questioner,
“but later I came to understand from the New Testament that
refusal to eat meat is unnecessary; now I eat meat and consider
it very nice.”

“I also think that eating meat is very nice,” Verigin replied.
“But it is neither nice nor right to kill.”

“What is your attitude toward marriage and divorce?”

“According to Dukhobor teachings,” Verigin began with an
unostentatious but impressive movement of his hands, “marriage
is a union of love.

“Where there is no love, then there is no union, in other words.

202

SLAVA BOHU

no marriage. And to keq) these people forcibly together is neither
possible nor right. For instance, let us consider this meeting. We
gathered here for a purpose. When we have finished our work,
would it be possible to hold us here longer, merely by such an
action as locking the door from the outside? Such an action
would be foolish. Yet I wish to say, at the same time, that I do
not mean it is right to have a free and unhindered exchange of
wives and husbands whenever a whim strikes someone. We do
not encourage this, and such among us happens very rarely,” he
finished unhurriedly.

Many in the auience earnestly sought light on these age-old
problems of how to live a life; what to do? Perhaps this hand-
some muzhik, with his apparent self-control, might point the
way. Who could say? Others of the audience were intrigued by
a game of intellectual maneuvering; a few wished to show their
own superior knowledge; but all were impressed with Peter
Verigin.

“How,” came another question, “do you explain Christ’s
words, ‘Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s.’ Does that
not mean that one should submit to governmental authority?”

“Unfortunately,” said Verigin, indifferent to the lie upon his
lips, “I have read the New Testament very little. Therefore I
might make a mistake in answering your question concerning
something in the New Testament. Yet as far as I understand
it, the conversation was about money, Christ was asked, in other
words, is it necessary to pay a money tax to Caesar? He asked
that the coin be shown to him, and, seeing on that coin the stamp
or picture of Caesar, decided that it belonged to Caesar, and there-
fore ordered given back to Caesar, Caesar’s. As long as man has
money he must return it to the government from which he received
it. If he gives back all his money then, of course, he becomes free
of taxes. I have just heard that some of the Dukhobors in Can-
ada carried out these words of Christ, They brought their money
to the government agent and to that extent became free,” said
Verigin.

“In your opinion, is service to God compatible with service
and submission to government?” a man asked.

“There is absolutely nothing in common between the two. In
this case, I happen to remember the words of Qirist, ‘It is impos-
sible to serve two masters.’ And these masters are so very dif-
ferent. God attracts men to his service in full freedom. Govern-

KRISTOS LEAVES SIBERIA 203

merits demand men serve their selfishness by using force and vio-
lence, such as in an army.”

“Can society exist without a government?” ventured a voice
from the back of the hall.

“I think that in a herd of homed cattle there must be a strong
and powerful bull who with yet larger horns will keep the herd
together for its own good. But human society, having the powers
of reasoning, could live freely without government.”

“What do you think about smoking tobacco and drinking
alcoholic beverages ?” asked someone.

“We consider tobacco as useless and alcoholic beverages as
harmful, and that is why we do not use one nor the other.”

“Do you consider Christ as the son of God?”

“All creation is the Son of God.”

“What is it you wish from the Canadian government?”

“We desire tibat we should be allowed to live, freely, not harm-
ing our neighbors in any way. Every person should have as much
land to work as his strengA will allow. This land we desire to
be held communally, not belonging to any individual, and we wish
that no one would force us to act against our conscience.” Veri-
gin’s voice was resonant with persuasion.

On and on went the questions. Unfalteringly came his answers ;
Tchertkov, rising to interpret, sitting while Verigin spoke —
highly pleased with it all.

After adjournment, many came to shake the hand of this
Christian martyr and he shook their hands, despite it being an
“unchristian” custom. “Spasibo, spasibo, thank you, thank you,”
bowing from the waist, eyes benign. “Spasibo. Slava Bohu.”

Tchertkov assured the knot of admirers that Peter was a typi-
cal Dukhobor. How could his brothers in Canada be guilty of
the things said about them in the papers? The accusations were
obviously unfounded, absurd. So the last of the audience departed,
determined to do aU possible to counteract the l 3 dng stories in the
newspapers and halt the Canadian government’s persecution of
these highly intelligent, “nature’s gentlemen,” the Dukhobors.

Paul Birukov, Ike Tolstoyan — who, with Tchertkov and Tre-
gubov, had failed in the attempt of 1896 to present to Tsar Nikolai
II, a petition on behalf of the Dukhobors exiled to Georgian
Caucasia — ^interviewed Verigin in England. Aylmer Maude had
told Birukov he, Maude, suspected the DuMiobors had a powerful
government in the person of Peter Verigin. This Birukov now
set about to verify.

204

SLAVA BOHU

“Do the Dukhobors acknowledge authority over themselves,
and are you that authority?” Birukov asked Verigin. “Do you
recognize yourself as an authority over the Duldiobors?”

“To recognize man’s authority over man is completely against
Dukhobor teachings,” Verigin answered with an air of being
offended at the imputation. “According to our teachings all people
are free and equal, no one among us is greater thjui another.
There is no authority over human beings except the power of
God.

“Pravda, I tell you,” Verigin continued^^n aggravated tone,
“a Dukhobor is none other th^ a person who refuses to recog-
nize over himself the authority of any human being. The Dukho-
bor is the common Russian muzhik gathered together from all
comers of Russia for the purpose of not recognizing any human
authority over himself.

“I consider myself,” Verigin went on, “as an equal member of
the Dukhobor community, and am always ready to do my duty to
aid my brothers, if they should turn to me for advice or counsel.
But concerning what some persons say and write about me being
their leader, I cannot help that; but it is chepuhal I tell you, non-
sense !”

Peter said he was not conversant with the details of what was
happening among the brothers and sisters. Yet, he remarked,
there must be some good reason for the pilgrimage, for Dukho-
bors were reasonable people. About the difficulties with the
Gutiadian government concerning the land, registration of births,
marriages and deaths, Verigin confided to Birukov that he was
completely on the side of the brothers, “because such demands of
a government are against the freedom and independence of man.”

At the port of St. John, Peter Verigin was met by Ivan Evon,
Paul Planedin and Semon Rebin, “under an arrangement com-
pleted by the Dominion government.” The three had been sent
by the Dukhobors to welcome him, and the government had been
in close touch with them while liiey awaited Verigin’s arrival.
The government, suspecting something of his influence over the
people, wished to take advantage of any opportunity to “sober”
the iimnigrants through him.

With ffie Dukhobor delegates and Harvey of the immigration
dq)artment, he arrived in Winnipeg on the afternoon of Decem-
ber 22. Severed of the faithful, and his sister Anna Vasilivna

KRISTOS LEAVES SIBERIA

205

Podovinikova, were on the station platform. Anna, seeing her
brother standing half a head taller than the average passenger,
ran toward him, the other Dukhobors wide-eyed and open-
mouthed trotting after her. Peter, put down his suitcase, took
off his black fedora, opened his arms, “Anna!”

Amidst many slava Bohus, he kissed the other Dukhobors.

As the party left the station for the Immigration Hall where
the brothers and sisters had awaited his arrival, he met Herbert
Archer and Crerar, immigration agent of Yorkton, and Mrs.
Almanovski, interpreter for the Manitoba Free Press. Moffat,
acting commissioner of immigration, also welcomed him to the
prairies.

“You will be glad, Mr. Verigin,” Moffat smiled affably, “to be
in a country where there is religious and individual freedom.”

“I have not been here very long,” Verigin answered through
an interpreter, “so I do not know whether it is a free country or
not.”

Moffat was impressed with Verigin’s bearing. Even Verigin’s
suit of clothes caught his eye — trousers encased in close-fitting
dark-gray leggings edged with black cloth; a silken cord arotmd
his neck, to whidi was fastened a large silver watch and a golden
pencil ; in his coat pocket, a large fountain pen, secured by loops
of black cloth.

After realizing that this unusual immigrant was not disposed
to promise an3^ing concerning the advice he might give the
Duldiobors, Moffat said, "You will know all about the troubles
the government has had with the Dukhobors when you get among
them, Mr. Verigin. We hope your coming may have a very good
effect. We will do anything possible to help you.”

“Spasibo, thank you,” Verigin bowed.

“You must be tired after your long journey, and you must be
hungry. So now I’ll say good-bye to you and wish you a safe jour-
ney to your mother tomorrow.”

Verigin listened very gravely to the translation, and shook
hands with Moffat : “I ffiank you very much,” he said. “I hope my
coming will be good.” He went upstairs to his room.

Peter left that evening for Yorfaon. Next morning when he
stepped out of the train at Yorkton, a hundred eager followers
were on the station platform to greet him. Not pleased with the
reception, as he had asked that only close relatives, should be
there, he immediately left to travel the forty miles by relays of

206

SLAVA BOHU

sleighs to the village of Poterpevshi. It was cold, and the trail was
snow blown, but, with several changes of horses, he reached his
old mother’s village soon after sundown.

The village street was lined with women, and men bareheaded,
despite the cold, from whom rose a psalm of welcome. Not since
the days of Lukeria Vasilivna Kalmikova had the old folks sung
with such joy in their hearts.

Peter got out of his sleigh and stood before them, cap in hand,
head slightly lowered, tmtil the rising and falling cadences ceased
to pour from out the reeds of this human organ, and the last notes
floated off in the frosty darkness. There was silence except for
the audible sob of a woman here and there in the assemblage.

Methodically, as of old, despite the mingling of high hopes and
apprehension, which any people would feel if they were meeting
their God face to face after long separation, they performed the
traditional ceremony of greeting. Peter had not forgotten his
lines. His was the same voice, though deeper. To the old folks
it was like yesterday again. For those who had grown up in the
last fifteen years, it was almost a miracle that Petushka, real
Petushka, should be standing there in flesh and blood before
them. At the last “Slava Bohu” of the ceremony, the assemblage
knelt as one and touched their foreheads to the snow. As one they
rose again.

“For a very long time now,” Petushka spoke, “the forces of
evil have kept us apart. Always I have been with you in the Spirit
of Christ, even though our hearts have been sore, and many of
you have suffered harsh persecution for your belief in truth. Now
God has seen that we should be again together, and slava Bohu,
I cannot tell you how glad I am.”

“Dear Petushka,” sobbed a woman.

“He is here,” shouted someone. “Kristos vos kris! Christ has
risen!”

“Slava Bohu!”

“Will someone show me where my Mother’s house is?” asked
Peter, “I will go now to gladden her heart and mine.”

And so in the lamp-lit doorway, his mother in his arms, they
left him. Left him and went away to sleep, though when morn-
ing came, many had not closed their eyes.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

NAKEDNESS

THAT DAY, POTERPEVSHI VILLAGE became Otradne
village. The villagers changed the name to mark the coming of
Peter Vasilivich Verigin. Poterpevshi means “has suffered”;
Otradne means “is joyful.”

Throughout three days the faithful from many villages came
to Otradne to greet their ruler, receive his blessing and ask his
advice He commended the pilgrims for their zeal and assured
them they had done very well in their search for the promised
land in the Spirit of Christ ; but now it would be right for them
to stay at home and work, even using horses. He had words of
praise for the brothers and sisters who had not joined the pilgrim-
age, “they who stayed in the villages, having everything ready
when the other brothers and sisters came home for the winter.”

So pilgrims cut their beards, sheared their long hair, began
using milk and butter, wearing leather boots and riding in horse-
drawn sleighs again. The non-pilgrims felt pleased that they had
stayed home, though among them were those who wished they
could have earned Petushka’s praise both for remaining at home
and going on the pilgrimage. But even Peter Verigin, for all his
verbosity, could not work Siat miracle for them.

Peter agreed to an itinerary by which he would visit every
village. Delegates hurried home to spread the glad tidings, arrang-
ing relays of horses and sleighs along his route of travel.

On the evening before he was to leave Otradne village, he
called a meeting in the large room of his mother's house ; his home
now. The room was packed, the faithful standing like herrings in
a can, so that when die opening psalm was finished there was not
space to bow. Peter began his oration with a review of his banish-
ment from Caucasia, the suffering of the brothers and sisters for
their Christian way of life. He told them of his journey from
Siberia to Moscow, from Moscow to England and thence to
Canada. And then to the sedulous and perspiring throng, he spoke
of Canadian settlement.

“I came to Canada,” he said, “because of God’s will. You
came to Canada before me, also of God's will. Slava Bohu. I

207

208

SLAVA BOHU

think that it is not at this time necessary for us to seek further
for a land where we will live peacefully in the Spirit of Christ,
as brothers and sisters together. Pravda, Canada is a cold coun-
try in winter, but the climate here is very healthy. There is no
fever here and all necessary vegetables grow very well.”

“Slava Bohu,” interjected a woman, who a few weeks before,
had searched for the promised land.

After reiterating that no true Christian could at the same time
be grasping and worldly, Peter went on to speak of the necessity
for being practical in farming and village affairs. A certain
amount of prosperity was necessary. “Yet, in order to have pros-
perity it is absolutely necesary to live in brotherly and sisterly
love. For such harmony the best way is communal life; communal
ownership, communal working of the land. Such is the Christian
way to live and the most practical way. Those who wish to live
apart as individual farmers must have full freedom to live in
their own way.

“Freedom, never force, must be the foundation of everything.
Christ said that man must be free. Christ also said that all Chris-
tians should strive to enter at the straight gate, ‘For many, I say
unto you, will seek to enter in, and shall not be able.’ For us the
straight gate is surely communal life.”

“A second very important thing, in order that we will have
success in our communal life, is the securing and possession of
farm animals, especially horses. According to my opinion each
family must have at least one pair of horses and one or two cows.
Some among us have considered it unjust and not right to use the
rewards of labor done by animals, but — ”

“In Canada,” interrupted a pilgrim, “all farm work is done with
horses, and man makes a personal profit out of the enslavement
of our brothers the animals. Is that right?” The pilgrim’s face
became red in the long moment of silence that followed his ques-
tion,

“To enslave the animals and treat them as slaves is very bad,”
Verigin went on to the relief of everyone. “A human, that is, a
true Christian, must never think or act toward his horse as a
master does to a slave. A Dukhobor must treat his horse as
a brother working together communally for one another’s bene-
fit. The horse works for the man in growing wheat for instance,
but the horse also works for itself to grow oats for itself. Also,
man works with his hands mowing and gathering hay for the
horse and building him a nice comfortable stable so that he will

NAKEDNESS

209

be warm in winter, instead of shivering in the forest like the poor
wild animals. Thus there is a very Christian exchange of services.
Let us all think of our horses as members of our communes just
like ourselves.”

The pilgrim pondered the appealing logic of Petushka’s answer.

“What should we do about cattle?” asked someone. “What
shall we do about the young bulls? If we breed more cows we will
also breed more bulls. It we have more horses we will not need
more bulls for oxen.”

“Da, would it then be right that we should sell those young
bulls we do not need to the unchristian butchers?”

“We need not worry about too many bulls among us,” Peter
answered. “On the ship I came on from England, there were
seven hundred immigrants coming to Canada. They will have
farms for themselves, but they are very poor. If when you have
too many bulls, you could help them, as others have helped you
in your first year, by giving them your extra bulls.”

This direct and unexpected answer appealed to almost every-
one. It was a generous way out of the difficult problem of selling
bulls to butchers. There were kulaks present who would sooner
have money for the bulls, even from butchers ; there were others
who questioned, in their own minds, the idea of giving away
their brothers the bulls to nonchristians, but none questioned
Peter’s decision aloud.

Peter, after many quotations from the New Testament of the
Holy Bible and much philosophizing about the right way of life,
turned to the land question in earnest. “All our future success
depends on the way we settle on the land, and in my opinion the
people must take land for themselves without further delay; by
that I mean they must be deeply grateful to the Canadian govern-
ment for its attitude toward themselves.”

This unexpected pronouncement surprised pilgrim sons of free-
dom, whose faces, here and there in the audience, showed their
bewilderment and dismay.

“For four years they [the Dukhobors] have behaved like guests
of Canada,” Peter continued, “and the Canadian government has
allowed them to behave so without taking away their land. The
government would have been justified in taking this land away,
but instead it has been very tolerant. Some of you see some kind
of danger in doing what the government’s laws demand, but I
for one do not see such a danger. Canada I see as a land of free-
dom. ... If danger to our principles should arise later, then we

210

SLAVA BOHU

will meet that darker if it comes, just as we always have before;
but again I repeat there is no danger now. We must have our
land secure so that we may live freely in the Spirit of Christ.”

“Da, da, yes, yes, that is right,” nodded a stout man with a
very red neck. Beside him stood a former pilgrim with a long
gray face.

“Another question.” Peter said, “is the registration of births,
marriages and deaths. I think it is very reasonable that the govern-
ment wants this information even about us. Suppose a man is
killed in Canada, the government wants to know about it and
catch the murderer so Siat he will not harm other humans. That
is very different from Caucasia, where sometimes a man is killed
by a bandit, and that bandit is allowed to ride away and kill some-
one else and rob and steal also. At the same time, in Canada,
soldiers and policemen do not whip or shoot the people.

“About marriages, we are allowed to have our own marriage
ceremonies in Canada as we have always had. All that the govern-
ment wants to know is the names of who was married and when.
As for babies being bom, the Canadian government does not
wish to put those babies’ names on a paper so that when they grow
up to be young men thqr will be taken away to war. Many things
I see in Canada are different to Russia. Here in Canada the
government has promised us that we will not be taken into the
army to fight, when killing is against our religion. The people
must obey Canadian laws because these laws, in my opinion, are
Christian laws, and they are made for our own good and the
good of others.

“I have heard that some of the brothers, even in this last few
days, have somehow come to believe that they must not settle
themselves in one place, but must only travel around preaching;
and that some of those brothers have announced that they intend
to start out when spring comes. Of course, they are free to do
whatever they consider right, but they must first seriously think
before they finally make their plans.”

Peter paused.

AU this was very hard for the “tme sons of freedom” who had
interpreted Peter’s letters and still desired to hold to their inter-
pretations.

“Dear Petushka,” began a timid voice, “did you not say that
Christ did no physical work, nor did the Apostles, and in order
to be true followers of Christ it is chiefly necessary to go out and

NAKEDNESS 211

preach the gospel of truth and that one may beg bread for the
body?”

“That is very true,” replied Verigin in reassuring tones. “At
times Christ did no physical work. For forty days on a mountain-
top Christ did nothing but fast and ponder: What is right?
But at other times he worked like other men, as a carpenter build-
ing houses, for instance.

“As for preaching the gospel of truth, that, too, is very neces-
sary, especially if a man has become perfect. Then, I think, he
should preach nearly all the time and possibly never stay in one
place. But have you attained such a level in your own lives to
justify your preaching to others ? Before one can preach to others,
one must live properly oneself. Are you all as good as that? I
don’t know how you are personally, each one of you, but I know
about myself, and I know I have not reached that level.”

“Are we to forsake everything for which we have suffered?”
asked a high-pitched and trembling voice. “Will we begin eating
meat again, begin using force . . . and was it right that the
government used force to stop us on our way to the promised
land — ” His voice choked with a sob.

“We will not forsake everything,” Petushka’s voice resounded
like a double bass. “We will not kill animals for food, nor will
we eat meat, nor fight in an army, nor use force in any way. I
am glad that you mentioned these things, my brother in Christ,
so that we may all affirm our true principles. I love you for it.
I love all the brothers and sisters.”

“Petushka loves us; dear Petushka!”

“I repeat that I admire the pilgrims who did what they thought
was right, even though the time had not come to find the promised
land. True, I do not like the use of force. WTio among us does?
But in what the government did that time I see the finger of God.
The government saved hundreds of true Christians and brothers
who are very dear to me and all of us ; saved them from harm,
saved them from suicide. I repeat, in this I see the finger of God.
Slava Bohu. Let us all sing a psalm to gladden the heart of God.”

So the meeting ended. Word of Peter’s proclamations spread
from village to village with great rapidity.

Next morning he began his inaugural tour of all the villages
of three colonies. Wrapped in sheeps’ wool, like a Himalayan
prince, he sat, surrounded by twelve of the faithful, in a sleigh
pulled by four of the best horses. Behind came three more sleighs

212

SLAVA BOHU

with baggage, a picked choir, and the “chosen.” Among the
“chosen” was Mahortoif, the old veteran sailor once in the service
of the Tsar. His beard as white as snow, he looked like Santa
Claus and felt as happy; everyone in the party was elated; the
picked choir sang hymns along the road.

Peter advised his followers to use the English (Gregorian)
calendar instead of the Russian Julian. On New Year’s eve, sing-
ing continued until dawn. On entering each village, after exchang-
ing the conventional greetings, the regal party sat down to eat a
fine meal of borsh, pancakes with cream, melted butter, honey,
and tea with lemon and sugar. Yorkton and Swan River mer-
chants had a wave of business.

Nikolai Zibaroff “wept tears of joy” when Petushka told him
he had done well in his search for the promised land, but now
he must work hard again to build communal life and to have a
true Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood.

In every village Peter praised Canada, its government, its
healthy climate, its prairies, rivers, rolling hills and trees.

Alex Mahortoff — ^not Mahortoff the Crimean veteran, but
Mahortoff a leader of the pilgrimage — was one who felt miserably
disappointed in Verigin’s pronouncements about settling down
and obeying the laws of the government. He did not wish to sign
for his homestead. He wished to remain a son of God, a true son
of freedom. He, with several others, secretly discussed the appal-
ling possibility that the Spirit of Christ had ceased to reside in
the soul of Peter Verigin. It was truly terrible, but what else
could an intelligent man or woman think when Peter now denied
much of what he had once said?

“Do not feel too badly, Alex,” said Efrem with a light of hope
in his eyes, “possibly the Spirit of Christ has not left Petushka.
Possibly Petushka is only testing everyone to see if they are weak
enough to forsake the true way of life and fall into the snare of
material things and governments ! Later, he will rebuke the ‘bad
brothers,’ and we, the true Sons of Freedom, will sit at his right
hand!”

"Moshet! Possibly !” said Alex, his face brightening. “We, too,
will outwardly agree now, but in our hearts we will continue our
belief in freedom. If Petushka means to test everyone, we must
let him.”

Peter chose Paul Planedin and Nikolai Zibaroff to act with
him in a supreme council of three over all communal affairs. All
earnings from produce and wage labor must be paid into the

NAKEDNESS

213

central treasury. Zibaroif, forgetting the pilgrimage, set to work
for communal organization with his ardor of old. Soon he was
buying horses and harness and, inside of a few months, selling
the surplus bulls of the Christian Community of Universal Broth-
erhood to Messrs. Gordon, Ironsides and Fares, meat exporters.

Newspapers throughout Canada praised Peter Verigin as a
Godsend to the Dukhobors, to the government, to everyone.

The town of Yorkton rejoiced. No more pilgrimages, no more
trouble with the Dukhobors. The Yorkton Enterprise of Febru-
ary 26, 1903, mentioned him in its social and personal column:
“Mr. Peter Verigin arrived in town yesterday with his team of
spirited bloods. He is on his way to Winnipeg to make a report
to the department of immigration, after malong a tour of the
Doukhobor villages.”

Verigin proclaimed the Dukhobors would become British sub-
jects; they had decided to comply with the laws of Canada. They
would individually make entry for their homesteads in accord
with the land laws, though they preferred to work the land com-
munally and live in villages. By 1906, in accord with the laws,
they would have title to their homesteads and be full-fledged
British subjects.

The Liberals rejoiced. How farsighted they had been in bring-
ing the Dukhobors, and later Peter Verigin, to Canada!

Early in April, Peter called a convention of Dukhobors, “in
order tiiat all plans for the summer’s work should be decided
freely, everyone having their say.” The meeting agreed that Peter
Verigin, Paul Planedin and Nikolai Zibaroff sho^d take care of
entering the names for homesteads. “We have nothing to fear
from registering our names,” said Peter. “As for taking the oath
of allegiance to the Canadian government and the King of Eng-
land, there is still three years to decide about that, and in the
meantime we must live.”

The delegates and visitors returned to their villages, most of
them anxious to begin spring work on the land, many of the
younger men going immediately in search of wages at railway
construction, on farms, an 3 rwhere they could earn money for the
communal treasury. Peter drove from village to village with his
four fine horses, encouraging the people, planning new buildings,
leading the singing men and women on the way to the fields in
early mornings.

A total of 2,025 quarter sections of land were registered;
323,000 acres. Only six families did not register their land.

214

SLAVA BOHU

Even true Sons of Freedom seemed resigned to the “material
life” as they termed it. They too went out in the fields. But
beneath all this activity, zealots like Alex Mahortoff, Efrem
Vlasoff, Alex Makasaeff, Peter Zarenchekofii, Vasa PopoflE, and
other Sons of Freedom, worked for their ideals and principles.
They spread the gospel of freedom secretly. Yes, they might suf-
fer in the beginning. Suffering was always necessary for those
who would see the light and believe the truth. But in the end they
would be rewarded by Petushka, by God. Slava Bohu. They con-
fided to their wives and close relatives that “Petushka is only
testing us when he asks us to obey the government. He does not
mean that it is right, he is only testing us as Christ was tested
in the wilderness.”

Vasa Popoff, he of the red-topped sheepskin hat who was an
elder on the first boat to Canada, now busied himself with ex-
plaining these mysteries to those he felt worthy. Alex Mahortoff,
who had helped with the interpretation of Verigin’s letters for the
pilgrimage, hoped the Spirit of Christ had not left Peter. If it
has not, reasoned Alex, and Peter is only testing the people, then
he will love me for what I am doing. If the Spirit of Christ has
left him, then what I am doing is still right and Grod will reward
me. Slava Bohu.

About the middle of May — when almost all the Dukhobors
were preparing gardens, plowing virgin prairie, or working out
for wages — the little group of true Sons of Freedom gathered
in the village of Efremovla. There were forty-five men, women
and children; and “we,” as Alex Mahortoff wrote later, “went in
the manner of the first man and woman, Adam and Eve, to show
humanity how man should return to his fatherland and return
the ripened fruit of its seeds. . . . We started from the village of
Efremovka, all of us naked. After passing through sixteen vil-
lages, we came near the village of Nadozhda.”

When they tried to enter the village, non-sons of freedom
Dukhobors, authorized by Peter Verigin, “whipped us with wil-
low switches until we were covered with blood. Then we were
surrounded by about twenty men who would not let us enter the
village.”

The sons and daughters of freedom had expected the whip-
pings as a further test. “You will be sorry you have whipped
us,” they said to the “bad” brothers. “The time will come when
you will find out we are right,” The whippings also served to test
the “bad” brothers, who, had they known the “truth,” would not

NAKEDNESS 215

have accepted Peter’s order to whip their Sons of Freedom broth-
ers. “Da, Peter was testing everyone.”

Alex Mahortoff’s account continues : “Night came on, and the
weather changed. It was very windy, with rain, and then snow
came. Being naked, we all huddled together like cattle, men, women
and children, to keep warm. The twenty Dukhobor guards decided
to stay the night by us. They put on their heavy sheepskin coats
and bourkas. We alone remained uncovered.

“Next morning it was very strange and wonderful to us, that
in spite of the wind and snow none of us were frostbitten. Later,
our guards publicly said with amazement, ‘We cannot understand
why they did not freeze. It was very cold that night, yet not one
of them was frozen!”’

Alex Mahortoff tried to explain to the “bad” brothers, the
guards, that what he and the other sons and daughters of free-
dom were doing was for the best for everyone in the end.

“We love you,” said Alex, “even though you do not understand,
do not see ^e light, and, instead, treat us like cattle and mad
people.”

“We do not want your love,” replied one of the guards. “Why
do you not go home to your villages and behave as good people
should? You are hurting Petushka by your antics. He does not
approve of you, and he has sent us here to tell you.”

“That is what you think,” said Feodor Razanoif, “but the time
will come when you will know differently.”

The guards took the women and children with them into the
village, shouting at the men that they could go wherever they
liked. Petushka had said that the women and children must not
suffer.

The twenty-eight men walked southward. Rain came again.
So wet and cold and hungry were they that they stayed two days
in the village of Truzdenia. The Truzdenia villagers fed but
taunted them, and tried to persuade them to turn ba(^.

But the pilgrims shook their heads. They set out in the direction
of Yorkton, singing melancholy psalms and grazing on grass and
leaves along the way. It was very hard because at this time of the
year there were no rose seed pods, nor stray heads of wheat.
Some had not been on the first pilgrimage, but one of those who
had, sadly remarked, “Last fall when we were here, the blackbirds
were going south. Now they are back again, and still we have
not reached the promised land. What fools human beings are, all
because they have not lived closely to nature like the aninuds.”

216

SUiVA BOHU

Word reached Yorkton “a new pilgrimage is on its way to
town.” North West Mounted Police on horseback were sent to
the outskirts to watch for it. At noon, Thursday, May 21, the
pilgrims were straggling within two miles of Yorkton, when
“Mounties” asked them where they were going.

“We go to live the Christian life,” said Ivan, who had been
a wealthy Dukhobor in Caucasia but now had abandoned the
“material life.”

The policemen warned the pilgrims to return to their villages,
and, after counting them, rode back toward Yorkton.

“They do not bdiave l&e Cossacks,” said Efrem Vlasoflf, from
the North Saskatdiewan River Colony, and who was having his
first experience in a pilgrimage.

“No,” said Kuzma Novakshonoff, “but possibly they will later.
I feel there will be much trouble.”

“Let us all now undress to show our belief in freedom,” said
Alex Mahortoff unbuttoning his trousers,

“Da, then we will all walk into town.”

“Smotret! Look!” said Kuzma after they had walked naked
for almost a mile, “there are many people coming toward us,”

Led by Moimted Police a hundred townsmen and farmers ap-
proached in buggies, democrats, wagons, on horseback.

“It is very strange,” said Alex, “that these people become so
excited when a human takes off his clothes. It is terrible how
far man has strayed from nature. If one were to dress an animal
in clothes, it woiJd cry out in fright and nm not knowing where.”

“Look how they are snarling and jeering at us,” said Kuzma,
when the police and townsmen had surrounded the pilgrims.

“Why do you take off your clothes?” shouted an interpreter
in Russian.

“Adam had no clothes before he siimed. We have not sinned,
and we wish to do no one any harm,” a pilgrim answered.

“Where are you going?” the interpreter asked.

“Into the world,” said Alex.

“Will you put your clothes on and return home to your vil-
lages?”

“No, that we cannot do. We must go on to wherever God will
lead us.”

'Y'ou will be locked up in a jail. Do you want that?”

‘Tt is not for us to decide. We do not want to be in a jail. But
if 3 rc>u use force against us, we cannot help that because we will
not use force against anyone. We only wish to be free.”

NAKEDNESS 217

“Da, we are Sons of Freedom and have given freedom to all
creation.”

Police, assisted by townsmen and farmers, began to dress the
pilgrims, who held their arms stiffly, twisted their bodies and
behaved as stubbornly as they might without striking their “tor-
mentors.”

Partly dressed, they were herded into Yorkton, down the street
lined with spectators, into the Immigration Hall. The next day
they were tried, on a charge of indecent exposure, convicted and
sentenced to three months in Regina Jail. They were detained,
however, in the Immigration Hall at Yorkton until July, where
attempts to persuade them out of their “belief in freedom” proved
futile.

In the North Saskatchewan River Colony, two hundred and
fifty miles northwest of Yorkton, the authorities dealt differently
with about thirty stubborn pilgrims. Toward evening, a North
West Mounted Policeman, of practical turn of mind, invited the
naked men and women into a house to spend the night.

“Here are your clothes in case you wish to dress later,” said
the policeman.

“We will not dress,” the pilgrims replied.

The Mountie nailed the house door open, hanging a lantern in
the doorway. The night was hot and moist; mosquitoes, attracted
by the light, winged their way into the house in a hungry swarm.
At first the naked men and women swatted; but soon, tired and
itching, they dressed themselves. Next morning they returned to
their villages.

CHAPTER TWENTY

SONS OF FREEDOM

WHATEVER ELSE PETER VASILIVICH VERIGIN
may have thought about the Sons o£ Freedom, he denounced their
behavior to government officials and newspapermen, though, of
course, he did not refer to his Adam and Eve, back-to-nature and
freedom philosophizing set forth in Veriginas Letters. For his en-
deavors to sober the fanatics and for his practical pronouncements
to enlighten the Dukhobors generally, he received praise from the
Canadian government, Leo Tolstoy, Aylmer Maude, the Quakers
in England and the United States, and others less involved in
Dukhobor affairs.

The “true’* Sons of Freedom, with traditional Dukhobor
secrecy, disclosed nothing concerning the mysteries of the “Let-
ters,*’ nor of Peter Verigin “testing us.” Those who continued
their “belief in freedom,” engaged immigration officials, jurists,
police and prison guards in involved philosophizing.

The twenty-eight men, sentenced to three months imprison-
ment for indecent exposure, were held in Yorkton Immigration
Hall until July 9, on which day they left by train, under escort
of Royal North West Mounted Police. In Regina Jail they stub-
bornly refused to conform with prison routine, and were, on occa-
sions dealt with cruelly.

Alex Mikhaelovich Mahortoff wrote a lengthy account of their
persecution in prison, at the end of which he described their
release : “By this time our wives and children were feeling badly
about us and had asked Peter Verigin if we could come out of
prison. He sympathized with them . . .”

The “warden” had also said they could leave if they would obey
the Canadian laws and work.

“ ‘What kind of work?* we asked him.

“ ‘Every kind,* he answered.

“ ‘Seeing that we gave freedom to ever 3 rthing, we cannot work
with animals,' said we.

“So for a while we had to weed grass. Then they let us out.

“On arriving home, most began to work. Of the original num-
ber, only ten real true ones were left.”

218

SONS OF FREEDOM

219

Alex Mahartoff with the other nine “true” ones “waited a little
. . . and began again to be active in God’s Work. We pulled a
packer over the standing grain, flattening it to the earth. And
why ? That men would learn not to believe in human science, but
instead have faith in God ... we also burnt a binder. Why?
That our brothers should not enslave our brothers the animals,
but should have faith in God. And we wanted to set fire to a
threshing machine, but we were stopped. . . .”

The “bad brothers” stopped them, the “bad brothers” who had
bought, at Peter Verigin’s advice, their first threshing machine
equipped with a new invention, a wind stacker.

Threshing machines of any kind were evil enough to the “true
ones,” but when they saw wheat straw being whirled through the
air into a mounting stack, it was more than they could bear.

“It is terrible,” said Kuzma, “they now have a devil inside it
to build the strawstack.”

Each night when the devil in the separator ceased to breathe
straw, and the steam tractor stopped snorting smoke like a gun,
some of the “bad brothers” remained to guard the machinery, and
the “true sons” were not able to burn it.

The brothers were unable to appreciate having their imple-
ments burned and their crops destroyed. They had managed to
extinguish the fire in their binder before little more than the can-
vas was eaten by flames. Then they had used force to put the six
Sons of Freedom into an improvised Dukhobor jail ; the prisoners
were Vasa Popoff, Kuzma Novakshonoff, Alex Makasaeff, Vasili
Makasaeff, Peter Zarchenkoif, Efrem Vlasoff.

When Alex Mahortoff had been in the government jail, he had
found the policemen and the guards very harsh. And now Vasa
Popoff made the sad discovery that his own brothers were as bad
as the government guards. Vasa Popoff, who had once worked
so energetically for communal life, had become a “true” Son of
Freedom. With bitter disappointment that all the brothers could
not understand his new “belief in freedom for all creation” he
wrote of his experiences :

“The burning (of the binder) took place in the village of
Truzhdenia, late in the evening. When we set fire to the machine,
an alarm was sounded, people came running with pitchforks,
clubs and fence posts. We hid, because in such angry excitement
they could have punctured us with their forks.

“The first day we stayed in the small forest, and on the second
night we went into a bam . . . about one mile from Truzhdenia.

220

SLAVA BOHU

When the sun was rising we were found there (by Community
Dukhobors) and we were tied two men together . . . driven into
Truzhdenia, and on the way we were beaten with clubs. They spit
in our eyes, cut our hair with knives and scissors. . . .

“And they discussed us and condemned us over and over, and
drove txs through their villages, and locked us in prisons and
shackled our arms and legs with iron.

“I, Vasili Popoff, and Vasili Makasaeff, in Voskresnia vil-
lage, together, on the fourth day did break out of our prison, and
with irons on our legs and arms we ran away to the Thtmder
Hill and broke our iron shackles there on the rocks.

“We ate rose seed pods and what vegetables we could find. . . .
For twelve days we were only two, but on the thirteenth day
came to us Kuzma Novakshonoff, who had escaped . . .”

The next day they were discovered by Ivan Evon, Ivan Kut-
niakoff and Feodor Obedkoff, “and were still more securely
shackled by our own brothers.

“We were driven through the villages in the way that crimi-
nals are moved, with a guard of ten of our Dukhobor brothers
. . . arms chained one to another . . . Alex Makasaeff was
locked in a cellar . . . Efrem Vlasoff was set free because he
wished to leave us Sons of Freedom . . .”

Though Vasili’s epistle went on to say that “the Dukhobors had
told the government about us already” and “the police were wait-
ing for us in Truzhdenia village,” police records show that a
moimted policeman was sent to investigate a charge of arson
(burning a binder) as a result of Peter Verigin having reported
the incident to the Royal North West Mounted Police.

Police and prison officials were nonplussed as to how to deal
with these “true” Sons of Freedom. Officials had been criticized
for their part in the Regina Jail episode. Colonel Perry, com-
missioner of Ro}^! NorA West Mounted Police, Regina, later
disclosed that he would have preferred that the Dukhobors try
to settle their own affairs out of court, and that had Peter Verigin
not asked for police intervention, a criminal charge would not
have been laid for setting fire to the binder.

A Mountie, sent to investigate, explained to Peter Verigin
that the penally for arson might be three years in a penitentiary,
and advised him to try and restore order among the people. He
suggested that the case need not necessarily go to court, but
Verigin insisted that, as the men were guilty of an offense against
Canadian law, thqr should be punished in a Canadian prison.

SONS OF FREEDOM

221

Not only did he insist that they be arrested, but he wanted them
taken to Regina “in chains” to set an example to others who
might wish to become Sons of Freedom. The policeman took
them away, but not in chains.

Vasili Popoff wrote : “On the 27th day of September we were
taken to Yorkton for further tortures. At Yorkton we were again
asked why we set fire to the machine. We explained fully and
carefully. We said that the end of all evil had arrived, and so it
was now necessary to free all God’s creation. In burning all life-
destroying weapons [burning of guns and swords in Caucasia],
we had taken the first step ; and now we were destroying all ma-
chines of corruption, because all machinery is evil and useful only
for corrupting life on earth . . .”

But the “officials and soldiers” did not understand this ex-
planation.

When they were taken to Regina for trial, Verigin appeared
to press for prosecution. Demanding the full penalty allowed by
the law, he said he could not be responsible for the actions of
crazy persons. The judge sentenced them to three years.

Alex Mahortoff, who was not arrested, sat in his house for a
whole week, with the windows boarded “just like a jail.” He
felt very sad because the brothers would not let him visit from one
village to another, and even when he wanted to work, they would
not let him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MAIDS AND CATECHISM

OF THE YOUNG GIRLS whom Peter Vasilivich Verigin
invited to care for his household, presided over by his aged
mother, several were relatives; Anastasia Holubeova being a
daughter of one of his nieces. “God send her plumpness, and beau-
ty will come of itself,” had long been a Dukhobor proverb. Anas-
tasia Holubeova, sixteen, was proverbially beautiful. Limbs well
covered, breasts rounded and full, blue-eyed, fair-haired; lips
smiling through physical health, and brow unfurrowed by intel-
lectualism, she was taller than the maid, Fedosia, and wider-
hipped than the maid, Anutka.

Lesser maids also sang to him, pulled his high boots from his
feet when he came in of an evening, kept his white Russian shirts
and his English morning coats spotless. But Anastasia drove out
with him in the upholstered buggy. When she toured the colonies
with him, naively basking in her queenship, there was covert gos-
siping, but the faithful accepted this new arrangement of Petush-
ka’s household as the Will of God.

To his flock generally he made no explanation, to several elders
and wavering inquirers he explained that it was necessary to fool
the Canadian government.

“The government,” he said, “has set spies to watch me, as
you know. It is better that those spies will say that I am harmless
to the government, alwa3rs being with yoimg girls and that is all.”
To “foreigners,” he introduced Anastasia simply as his niece.

While in exile he had found satisfaction in philosophizing,
reading books, writing letters, baiting priests, feeding hungry
children, growing cucumbers in hotbeds, long walks, carpentering.
There, unworried by the press of day-to-day problems now con-
comitant with ruling his flock at dose range, he had been able
to lead a semimonastic existence somewhat in accord with his
theories of how to live a life. From that distance it had been com-
parativdy simple to send his “advice” to the faithful, advice for
the most part concerning what they should not do.

In Canada, in the midst of his people, he was confronted on
all sides with “what to do?” about the smallest details of com-

222

MAIDS AND CATECHISM

223

munal management. Beset by “true” Sons of Freedom on one
hand — ^who wished to give freedom to their brothers the horses —
and on the other hand by Independents who wanted to own more
horses for themselves, he saw that growth of either faction
threatened his Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood.
What to do ? He did what many another man has done when agi-
tated within himself and harassed by the world about him. He
found solace in a personable young woman, who had neither desire
nor ability to question the wisdom of his schemes.

At the same time he urged the people to produce more so that
the communes could purchase more horses, milk cows, and farm
machinery; he ordered the young men to go to the railway and
lumber camps, every cent earned by them to be turned into the
community fund. Most of the land held by the Dukhobors, under
agreement with the Canadian govermnent, had not been plowed;
yet he purchased from a land company another fifty-two quarter
sections for which he paid $10,000 in cash, and he bought three
partly cultivated homesteads for $360 in cash. He was buying
land outright against the time when his people would have to
take the oath of allegiance to the British Crown in accord with
Canadian land laws, or forfeit their original homestead land.

In 1903, when the steel of the Canadian Northern Railway was
laid through the South Colony, the new “town” of Verigin be-
came the commercial center for both South and Thimder Hill
colonies. Verigin Station, with its general store, and grain ele-
vator under construction, was only six miles from Otradne village
where Peter lived with his mother and his maids, and Otradne
remained the social seat of Dukhobor government. When Peter
had been approached by the Canadian Northern for railway right
of way through Dukhobor lands and a townsite which the com-
pany would be pleased to name “Verigin” in his honor, he had
been shrewd enough to sell forty acres, on condition that the
station be located not in the center of the townsite, but a few
yards from the edge of it, so that expansion would take place on
Dukhobor property besides that purchased by the railway com-
pany.

All the villages of Thunder Hill and the South Colony joined
Peter’s bolshoi commune, the Christian Community of Universal
Brotherhood, wherein all land, livestock, farm implements and
money from wage labor were held in common. Work in the fields
was done collectively, too, Peter himself going from village to
village leading the singing, as men, women and children marched

224

SLAVA BOHU

to the field. Some of the villagers were not enthusiastic about
this communal ownership and they predicted it would not last.
To these, Peter explained it as only an experiment for one year,
and if, after that time anyone wished to leave the commune, he
would be free to do so, and take with him all the animals and
machinery he had put into it.

The North Saskatchewan River Colony was the thorn in
Peter’s Christian communism. The colony generally favored hold-
ing the land in common, but that was dl. By promises of pros-
perity on earth and spiritual reward in heaven, Peter tried to
bring this colony closer within his fold. But, although nearly all
recognized him as their leader, a few regarding him as Christ, they
did not want another experiment in “owning and working every-
thing in common.” They would pay him tribute, they desired his
advice and protection, they loved him, they wished to continue
living together in villages, but most of them wanted to own their
own horses, plows and spiiming wheels, just as they owned their
own boots and petticoats.

This conditional allegiance to Peter’s Dukhoboria was bad
enough, but the heretical attitude of Gregori Makaroif, who not
only insisted on owning his own land, but who would aclmowledge
no allegiance to Petushka, was worse. Gregori’s way shocked ^e
other villagers, and was frowned upon even by his wife, who tried
to persuade him to behave as the other brothers. Nikolai Svetlich-
noff talked through a whole night with Gregori, and after exhaust-
ing all arguments without avail, Nikolai resorted to horrible pre-
dictions of punishments.

But Gregori was resolute. “I do not believe,” he said, “that
Peter Verigin is a Christ or a god of any kind I believe none
among us is greater than another, and each must use his own
reason and conscience to decide things for himself. In all of us
there is some of the Spirit of God, W Peter Verigin is only a
man.”

“But what if the son of a bitch is a god?” Nikolai exploded.
“What will happen to you then? Is it not better to be a little bit
safe imtil you ^ow for sure?”

*T am sure enough he is not a god, but I see you are not so
sure he is one,” Gregori replied.

With the glow of dawn in the sl^ and the dew of the night
on his boots, Nikolai went home with a gnawing doubt of Pe-
tushka’s divinity.

MAIDS AND CATECHISM

225

Then Peter Verigin came to the village; Peter, with six fine
horses hitched in pairs, with Anastasia, with his maids and sing-
ers. He spoke of communal life as the Christian way, commended
Gregori for being a good farmer and horseman. He invited him
to the next village, and when Gregori accepted, everyone thought
he had been won over.

Some three miles down the prairie trail, Peter ordered his
driver to halt; then he began pressing Gregori to join with the
brothers in the Christian life, trying flattery at first, then intimi-
dation.

“Your sons, when they grow up, possibly even you yourself,
may be taken away by the Canadian government to fight in an
army,” Peter warned. “If that happens, you must never blame
me. I am doing all I can for you.”

But Gregori would not give in; instead he walked home, de-
pressed and disturbed within himself.

From then on, Gregori Makaroff was ostracized by the faith-
ful. “No-Dukhobor,” they called him. Supplementing moral coer-
cion with economic pressure, they excluded him from communal
river crossings. When he wished to cross the river with his horses
and wagon to bring sugar and tea from Rosthem town, he, aided
by his wife and children alone, had to take the wagon apart and
ferry it across wheel by wheel, axle by axle, and then swim the
horses across the broad North Saskatchewan. If he would not
work the land communally, if he would not admit Petushka as
his leader, then “he must at the same time be independent in all
things, expecting no help from us,” they said.

They would not allow him to keep his “devil” cows in the
fenced pasture with their “holy” ones. But Gregori’s cows, un-
aware of their iniquity, wanted the bull in June as did the holy
ones. Thus Gregori’s young son, Peter, had to watch herd over
the heifers, doing duty for a barb-wire fence which his father
could not afford.

Peter Gregorivich was eight years of age, blue-eyed, forehead
wrinkled by all this controversy he could not well understand.
When he was not tending cows or helping his mother in the gar-
den, he went to the little schoolhouse where John Sherbinin, of
the St. Petersburg middle-class gentry, taught a straggling dass
the three R’s, besides suitable passages from the New Testa-
ment. During the noon hour and recesses, the other ten Dukhobor
boys, who intermittently attended school, avoided him at play.

226

SLAVA BOHU

and, echoing the taunts of their parents, reviled him with being
“No-Dukhobor” — ^“Your father, nyeto-kristianski.”

Later Peter was sent across the river to the Quaker-sponsored
school in Rosthem, town of the Mennonite district, twenty-six
miles from home. With him went eight other Dukhobor boys,
but so impressive were Verigin’s warnings against schools, their
parents became frightened, and the others returned home.

That autumn, Quakers of Philadelphia conceived a plan to
take Dukhobor children to Pennsylvania and New York states,
there to be educated while supporting themselves on selected farms.
After much discussion and many forebodings, three married
couples and six children accepted the Quakers’ offer. Among them
was Peter Makaroff, who went without his parents. He was as-
signed to the farm of a hard-working, God-fearing Irishman by
the name of McCandless, near Media, Pennsylvania.

This persistence of the Quakers so annoyed Verigin, that from
then on he subtly undermined their little influence. But, too cau-
tious to denounce the “Friends” openly he contented himself with
pronouncements professing sorrow for their ignorance and mis-
taken ideals. True, the Society of Friends in England and United
States had contributed a few thousand dollars toward the Dukho-
bor exodus, but “that was the will of God and we thank them for
what they have done. But now when they are trjdng to change
our belief in Christ, we must remember the Devil has many wa 3 rs
of going about his evil work.”

!^rly in the winter, two Dukhobor families returned from the
Quaker farms. Young Peter Makaroff, however, at the insistence
of his father, was among those who remained.

Early in 1904, Peter Verigin concentrated his attention on the
South and Thunder Hill colonies where the “truest” Dukhobors
lived. He commanded the villages of both colonies to send dele-
gates to a meeting to be held in the South Colony village of
Nazhdenia, on February 28.

To the convention, uninvited, came two non-Dukhobors who
understood Russian. “They,” it was whispered among the dele-
gates, “are spies of the Canadian goverrunent.” Thus, when the
delegates discussed the difficult question of whether or not the
true believers should take the oath of allegiance to the British
Crown, Verigin made certain that all became aware that none
should take &e oath. Yet, for the benefit of the “spies,” it was
agreed exoterically and apparently democratically, “we should

MAIDS AND CATECHISM

have meetings in all the villages so that each man will decide for
himself if he will take the oath of allegiance to the English King/'

According to the minutes of the meeting, the following resolu-
tions were approved :

To pay all land taxes due, ^‘and in future build our own roads.”
To arrange this, two men were to be sent to Regina to ask Govern-
ment officials to exempt the Dukhobors from the road tax and
“allow us to build our own roads.”

To send $500 to Dukhobors in exile in Yakutsk, Russia, “to
help the brothers come to Canada.”

To purchase more seed drills; two sawmills with planing and
finishing attachments, one for the South Colony, another for Thunder
Hill.

To buy a brickmaking machine. Each village should begin making
roofing tile and build an oil press.

To have buildings for finishing homespun built on to every flour
mill, and to build extra stables for the horses of those who bring their
grain to the mills.

To buy one hundred more milk cows, one hundred angora goats,
and 2,000 poods of wool for making homesptm cloth.

To buy sugar and tea as before (decided after some argument
against such extravagance).

To build a large warehouse by the edge of the new railway town
of Verigin, and to begin hauling lumber for it before spring.

To thank the Quakers “for wishing to build a school for us, but
to tell them it is not necessary, because we will build our own
schools.” (Joseph S. Elkington's book The Doukhobors was pub-
lished in Philadelphia in 1903; he had offered the royalties from
it to build a Quaker school.)

To appoint two representatives (to the central Dukhobor govern-
ment) from every village, similar to the method of last year, pro-
vided that the representatives be careful not to act too much on their
own initiative.

Nikolai Zibaroff and Vasili Potopoff to be the buyers of all
groceries and clothing manufactured outside of the community.

Paul Planedin and Feodor Sukochoff to superintend the horses and
all pertaining to them.

Andrei Semenoff and Ivan Verigin to manage the sheep.

Semon Rebin to supervise the correspondence and continue as
official interpreter of the English language to Peter Verigin.

The financial report, covering the current year, showed purchase
of farm machinery as follows:

228

SLAVA BOHU

6 steam threshing engines and separators $15,290.00
50 binders at $125 each 6,250.00

59 sulky plows, single furrow at $24, 1,416.00

50 gang plows, at 1,700.00

32 hay mowers, at $46, 1,472.00

20 se^ drills, at $70 and $90, 1,560.00

Total $27,688.00

More than $111,000, earned by Dukhobors, was turned in to
the communal treasury, along with $8,000 earned by communal
contracts and more than $10,000 obtained from the sale of seneca
root. The accounts showed $6,000 from the sale of beef cattle.

Repayment of loans and donations included the following:
$300 sent to Leo Tolstoy in aid of the Pavlovsti, members of a
small non-Dukhobor sect who had been condemned to penal ser-
vitude in Russia, because of their religious beliefs ; $500 sent to
Tchertkov for his help and expenditure on behalf of the Dukho-
bors during the migration to Canada.

Peter Verigin supported the Dukhobor tradition of monetary
honesty. For instance, Aylmer Maude received a letter, evidently
typed by Verigin’s secretary, in which a cheque was enclosed for
$1,250 which Maude had loaned to five different villages in 1899.
“A repayment,” Maude commented, “that could easily have been
shirked — after all the confusion of pilgrimage — ^had the Dukho-
bors wished not to act honestly.”

Verigin had not invited delegates from the North Saskatchewan
River Colony to attend his economic conference. About three
hundred miles sq)arated it from the South and Thunder Hill
colonies; besides, this colony was not inclined toward communal
ownership of livestock, farm implements and money. Peter wished
to make the colony ashamed of itself by giving his attention to
the faithful of the other colonies.

But all was not well in Thunder Hill. Ivan Kanigan had openly
expressed his dissatisfaction with the communism of the Chris-
tian Community of Universal Brotherhood, and had agreed, after
Verigin had persuaded him, to try it for one year. Now he said
he did not like it, and that he wished to resume ownership of his
horses, cows and implements. But, the Christians gave him only
one horse and one cow and stopped him from getting supplies from
the communal store. They called him “No-Dukhobor” and “Ga-
ladan,” told him that his children would be taken away as soldiers

MAIDS AND CATECHISM 229

and that he would soon have no land among the Dukhobors. Yet
Ivan persisted in his independence.

There were others who wished to live outside the communes,
and in the South Colony there was a quarrel between “No-Dukho-
bors” and “true Dukhobors” in whidi pitchforks and fence posts
were used, but no one was seriously wounded.

Peter, harassed by the Independents on one side and the Sons
of Freedom on the other, became yet more opposed to schools
among his people, and he feared that, should tihe faithful take
the oath of allegiance to the British Crown, such would tend
further to disintegrate his Dukhoboria. So that the faithful should
have ready though vague answers to an impending Canadian gov-
ernment inquiry, he had a question and answer catechism printed
in Russian language and sent around to the villages to be memo-
rized by all true Dukhobors. These answers were later recited to
government officials when they pressed that the Dukhobors ad-
here to their agreement to naturalization and land laws.

The Catechism

1. Q. Why was Christ bom?

A. To save the world, and for kindness and humilily.

2. Q. Why do you not wish to become subjects?

A. The teachbg of our Savior forbids it.

3. Q. Of what kingdom are you subjects ?

A. Of that which has no bounds.

4. Q. To what laws are you subject?

A. To that which has no bounds.

5. Q. Of what faith are you?

A. ^dge by our deeds.

6. Q. To what society do you belong?

A. To the Univen^ Brotherhood.

7. Q. In what land do you live?

A. In the world, temporarily.

8. Q. "Wherein has the love of God revealed itself to us?

A. In that God has sent into the world a son of like substance,
that through Him we might be saved. Kings ! You ejdst
for men who like yoursdves are men of war. Peoples!
As Christians we cannot take part in any conflicts and
dissensions, and therefore you may leave us in peace. "We
assure you that a time will come when men will beat all
ffieir swords into plowshares. So allow us already today
to bear the standard of truth along the path tovrards the
golden age. Men are, in truth, all equals; this should be

230

SLAVA BOHU

taught to the children of peasants and kings also . . . wars
but increase the misery of mankind.

When a translation of this catechism was published in the
Winnipeg Tribune of May 7. 1904. Peter Verigin denied its
authorship. When the faithful were asked how they arrived at
the answers, they said, “Each of us decided these things for our-
selves, we are aU equal. We have no one among us who decides
for us.”

Peter, in a lengthy letter to Tchertkov, published in Tchertkov’s
Svobodnoe Slovo (Free Word) of April 15, piously disclaimed
responsibility for Dukhobors “who wish not to sign an attestation
of allegiance to the English King . . . there is yet two years to
go, and time will show what then will happen. To speak openly,
many of the Dukhobors are not satisfied with the Canadian cli-
mate and cattle breeding. And taking all things together, whether
it will not compel the Dukhobors to emigrate from Canada, can-
not be guaranteed.”

He was evidently preparing himself and his followers for a
struggle with the Canadian government in 1906. Another pro-
nouncement, so flagrantly in opposition to the truth that he dared
not commit it to writing, was circulated among his followers by
word of mouth. The Canadian government, he whispered to avid
ears, had guaranteed the Dukhobors complete exemption from
all Canadian laws for ninety-nine years. After that period of
trial (the Canadian government to be on trial), the Dukhobors
would leave Canada if they did not wish to obey the laws. Thus
the faithful were led to believe that if they refused to take the
oath of allegiance to the English King when the time came in
1906, it would not be they who would be breaking an agreement,
but the Canadian government

Anxious as was Peter that his subjects should not take oath,
nor become “Independents,” he was as determined that the Sons
of Freedom cult should not spread. He refused to have the Sons
of Freedom, serving sentence in Stony Mountain Penitentiary,
back in his midst Had he been willing, the minister of justice
would have liberated them, for they had gone on a prolonged
hunger strike and one had died. Tales of the Christian mart)T:s
being cruelly tortured in prison were again appearing in publica-
tions of various languages, to the embarrassment of the Canadian
government

The Russian foreign minister protested to the British ambas-

MAIDS AND CATECHISM

231

sador at St. Petersburg that Dukhobors in Canada had been “tor-
tured in prison.” The British ambassador conveyed the complaint
to the foreign secretary in London. The foreign secretary dis-
patched it to the colonial secretary, who relayed it to the governor-
general of Canada, who sent it to the prime minister of Canada,
who sent copies of the correspondence to the minister of justice
and the commissioner of Royal North West Moimted Police.

James Mavor, professor of political economy, traveling through
the Northwest Territories to compile a report for His Majesty’s
Board of Trade, was delegated by the Canadian government to
interview Verigin about taking the hunger-striking Sons of Free-
dom back into his fold.

Mavor, whom Peter Verigin had impressed most favorably
when he visited him in Toronto in 1903, had hope of persuading
Peter. When he arrived in Swan River, Nikolai Zibaroff met
him with a fine team of horses. Paul Planedin, with a still finer
team, drove him over the last lap of the trail to the new town of
Verigin, where he was received by Peter with the courtesy due an
ambassador of a foreign power.

Vasili Obedkoff, Peter’s own man Friday of exile, was ap-
pointed valet to Mavor. When he washed, Obedkoff stood by in
semioriental manner, pouring water over the hands of the honored
guest. Mavor was more than ever impressed with Peter’s per-
sonality, hospitality, his “shrewd and able mind,” and his aware-
ness of the “faults and weaknesses of his people.”

After a pleasant visit of several days, Peter broached the sub-
ject of the Sons of Freedom in penitentiary, as Mavor had hoped
he would.

“I would speak with you about something which is very sad
to me . . .” Peter began.

Mavor agreed that it was very sad. “If you will give me a let-
ter to the minister of justice,” he said, “1 will do what I can to
induce him to liberate the men, and then perhaps their lives will
be saved.”

Verigin did not reply immediately. As if in profound thought,
he rose from his chair and walked back and forth in the room,
while Mavor sat waiting.

“No,” said Peter, “that I cannot do. If these men are let out
of prison, they will come back here, and they will infect others
with their madness, and how then are the pec^le to be managed?”

Mavor, unable to persuade Peter to change his decision, im-

232

SLAVA BOHU

pressed upon him that the complaints of “torture” must cease.
Such allegations were unfair to the Canadian government.

That summer, about forty Sons of Freedom, men, women and
children, led by Alex Mahortoff, began another pilgrimage through
Thunder Hill Colony. Alex, by now, felt sure that the Spirit
of Christ had left Peter, and the one hope for the true Sons of
Freedom was to leave Cmada and find the promised land. Reach-
ing Swan River, the pilgrims marched through the town unmo-
lested, except for looks of disapproval from the spectators arrayed
along the main street. To the railway tracks they went, marching
southward to the land of fruit and sunshine. Three stations down
the line, overtaken by a drizzling rain, they crowded into the
dq)Ot for shelter. The station agent, on advice telegraphed from
the commissioner of immigration, mustered the section men and
loaded the protesting pilgrims into a boxcar. Like cattle they were
shipped back to Swan River, and after being held there in an old
bam for almost a month, they agreed, with the exception of Alex
Mahortoff who was taken to Winnipeg for investigation, to return
to their villages.

“It was very hard for the Sons of Freedom who went back to
the villages,” Mahortoff wrote in his epistle. “The other Dukho-
bors looked down on them so much and were very nasty to them.
These pilgrimages were not easy for us to bear, and yet what
could we do? We believed in them.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

LAND REVERSION

“MOTHER OF GOD,” mother of Peter Vasilivich Verigin,
died in 1905. The wailing of the womenfolk, the melancholy
funeral psalms, the finality with which her body was lowered in
in the grave ; these impressed Peter more than did the six-weeks-
after-graveside ceremony when the old lady’s soul was supposed
to enter Heaven on the uncertain wings of faith. He became so
lonely, that Anastasia Holubeova, in all her youthful plumpness,
could not fill the void within him. The old mood of “Juroshka,
the gloomy one,” returned; his thoughts turned to Lukeria who
had brightened his days in the Wet Mountains of Horelovka.

For the first time since leaving Siberian exile, he began seri-
ously to think of his divorced wife, Dunia, and their son, Peter
Petrovich Verigin, whom he had never seen. Dunia, who still
lived in the village where he himself was bom. And now there
were grandchildren; possibly all might unite in Canada and live
happily? His son, his own flesh and blood, might prove to be a
strong and obedient man capable of bringing both Independents
and Sons of Freedom back within the commumil fold.

Thus wishfully did Peter Vasilivich dream, and soon he wrote
Dunia, half apologizing for bygones which, had been the Will of
God, but now should be forgotten by her; even as he, in the
Spirit of Christ, had forgiven those who had sinned against him.
Slava Bohu.

The letter aroused Dunia’s curiosity to such a point she was
willing to venture to Canada; but her rdatives opposed it.

“He was good for nothing except slyness before, Dunetchka,
and now he believes he is Kristos,” said one KatelnikofF.

“Tak,” said Dunia, “but I have never been in a boat on the
ocean. He will send the money. I could come back.”

It was the son who decided the issue. Twenty-four years of
age, with the restlessness of his mother, he was almost as hand-
some as his father. To the qualities of his male parent he had
added a fondness for vodka and cards.

“Nichevo, do not worry about us,” he argued, “I will take
care of my mother. I will see with my own eyes what that father

233

234

SLAVA BOHU

is doing in Canada. Possibly, I will change everj^ing over there.
Possibly we will all go to Canada. But first I will see that every-
thing is all right there.”

Curiosity as to how the “mad” brothers and sisters in Canada
were faring overcame the villagers of Orlovka, who decided to
send Alex Varabeoff and another delegate to look for land in
Canada. With these delegates, went Dunia, and her son Peter
Petrovich Verigin and his wife Anna and their baby, also named
Peter Petrovich Verigin, and a daughter three years of age. With
them went an adventurous lad of sixteen, Peter Morozoff.

Rumors that the party was on its way circulated among the
brothers and sisters in Canada. Peter Vasilivich, noncommittal
about it all, said that if Dunia and Peter Petrovich wished to
visit Canada, that was their business. Canada was a free country,
and he would not stop their coming. He, for his part, held no
grudge against Dunia, nor any of the misguided brothers, for to
do so wodd not be C^istian.

When Peter Vasilivich received his wife and son in Canada,
doubt soon assailed him. He looked at Peter Petrovich through
half-closed eyes, as much as to say, “I know you, Peter.” And the
son, with sly audacity, said in all but words, “And I know you,
too.”

The son, looking like a Cossack in his knee boots, white trousers
and blue blouse, baited his father continuously. So much alike
were they that die young Verigin unerringly sensed what would
inwardly rile the older one. The mother’s disillusioned eyes ac-
cused 1^, and he wished that he had not sent for them. They
lived in a separate house across from his, and only the grand-
children, with whom he played occasionally, gave him any solace.

Good Dukhobors were aghast at Peter Petrovich — ^at his swag-
gering, his lewd talk, his furtive cigarette smoking.

“Da, he is my father,” said Peter Petrovich to an astonished
audience. “He may be Kristos to many of you and Petushka to
you all, but I tell you truly to me he is only another man, an
obstinate and sly old man, who is fooling you.”

Appeals to filial affection and warnings of God’s wrath failing,
Peter Vasilivich threatened Peter Petrovich with excommtmica-
tion from his purse.

“What do I care for your money, you old bandeit” replied
the son in a fit of temper. “It is not yours. You have taken it from
the believers, the simple ones, those who believe in your lies.”

Peter Vasilivich wilted as if stabbed with a (kgger. Never

LAND REVERSION 235

before had anyone spoken to him so, and never had he felt so
defenseless.

Peter Petrovich, to prove that he was not all braggadocio, left
the village and found work on a railway extra-gang. There he
was a wonder to the other Slavs working on the grade. In furious
bursts of energy he would wield his pick and shovel ; then, sweat-
ing, a damp wisp of hair matted against his forehead, he would
lie down in the fresh plowing and weeds of the right of way, half
closing his yellowish-gray eyes with an air of “disturb me, and
I will show you what will happen.” On evenings, swinging a leg
from the bimk-car door, or stretched out beside a smouldering
smudge to discourage the mosquitoes, he would release his imagi-
nation in tales of his exploits in Russia ; his baritone voice rising
at times to a shrill, stallionlike squeal; his listeners occasionally
daring to ask a question, but more often nudging one another in
the darkness.

In a few weeks, tiring of pork and beans and “C. P. R. straw-
berries” (prunes), and the limited life of an extra-gang, he re-
turned to the villages of the South Colony. Toil was good for
the soul, even though he had lots of money, he told the villagers.
Everyone should work. No one should be lazy.

His free manner and fast talk appealed to many of the younger
men and women. He read newspapers aloud to them, told them
of his schooling in Elizevetpol, declared that all should know how
to read and write, and intimated that his father was keeping them
in ignorance.

^^ile he was staying in Ospenia village, in the Saskatchewan
River Colony, with his relatives, Ivan and Semon Katelnikoff,
Sons of Freedom pilgrims entered the village. They had been
traveling from village to village, urging their brothers to free the
horses and cattle and seek the promised land again. Their evan-
gelical mode was to disrobe, after which a spokesman would de-
liver an oration on “freedom for all creation.” When they en-
tered the village, the pilgrims wished to see the son of the father.
They hoped that he, a young man, and, reportedly, having many
ideas about how to live a life, would see the light of freedom.

On the village street by the home of Ivan Katelnikoff, Peter
greeted the nude assemblage, apprising it as might a cattle buyer.
Undismayed, they stood before him, hopefully. Instead he railed
against their belief in freedom; soon an audience gathered to
witness the spectacle and marvd at the young man’s oratory.

Disconcerted at this unexpected outburst, a bony Son of Free-

236

SLAVA BOHU

dom, his beard reaching nearly to his naked belly, shuffled his
feet in the dust of the street. But Maria’s faith in freedom could
not be shaken so. Head high, eyes fastened on Peter, breasts
protruding from beneath her folded arms, she interrupted him,
forcing hun to listen to her.

“God did not have us bom with clothes on our bodies,” she
said. “God chose to have all humans and all animals bom naked,
but only humans are so foolish that they cover their nakedness.”

“Foolish woman,” Peter shouted at her. “You are one hundred
per cent crazy. Do you not see that God gave cows tails to cover
their nakedness? Did God give 3rou a tail?”

“I do not need a tail,” said Maria. “I am a daughter of free-
dom.”

“You need brains in a head that is pustia” Peter retorted. “God
gave you some brains, and you were supposed to use those brains
to cover yourself, instead of a tail.”

Pausing momentarily, he glared at the little ^oup through
narrowed eyelids. Behind the front ranks of the serious-faced au-
dience came a hysterical giggle.

“God will surely give you tails,” he went on. “Pravda. He will
grow tails for you all! But they will not be cows’ tails, nor
human Son of Freedom tails. They will be the tails of devils,
and you, who will will wear them, will yourselves turn into devils
with horns on your heads. Ponimaesh?”

So impressive was this prognostication, all but two of the
disappointed group dressed and went home to their villages. Only
stout Maria and a man, in whose eyes shone an undimmed light
of fanaticism, continued on their way to preach the gospel of
freedom.

The impression that Peter Petrovich was making on the Dukho-
bors in Canada decided Peter Vasilivich to send the younger man
and his mother back to Russia.

On landing at Batum, Peter Petrovich and his entourage went
directly to Orlovka village in the Wet Mountains. There he stayed
some six months before reappearing in his native village of Sla-
vanka. He told the Wet Mountain people that he had returned to
help them, and that it was best not to go to Canada. He chose
to say little about his father. As if to secure his semileadership of
the Wet Mountain Dukhobors, he urged them to work hard on
the land and live a true Christian life. He himself spent much
time fishing, riding horseback, playing cards and visiting the
hotels in the towns. When he preached the gospel on Sunday

LAND REVERSION

237

mornings and visited members of his following in the course of
his rides over the countryside, his faithful offered him presents
of money, which he accepted, “only to please the people, slava
Bohu.”

Peter Vasilivich, his hopes of a family Utopia turned to bitter-
ness, shifted his attention to a sly battle of wits with the Cana-
dian government of 1906. Three years had elapsed since his ar-
rival in Canada, the government was pressing the Dukhobors to
comply with the land laws of the country by signing individually
for their homesteads. Frank Oliver, who had succeeded Clifford
Sifton as minister of the interior, warned Verigin the land would
be taken away from all those who, within two months, failed to
comply with the laws.

Peter, secretly fearing that compliance with the law would
further disintegrate his empire, told the minister of the interior
that “each Dukhobor must decide for himself what he will do.
It is not right or Christian that I or any one man should tell them
what to do. Wje are all equal,”

Simultaneously he passed word among his followers that they
should not sign for their homesteads. The faithful in turn, when
questioned by government officials, said that they had decided it
^as not Christian to ovm land as individuals.

Verigin went to Winnipeg that October and suggested in an
evasive interview with the minister of the interior, that he thought
the Dukhobors would become citizens if given sufficient time.
Oliver pointed out that they had had seven years in which to
make up their minds. Now the government was determined that
they comply with Canadian law, as they had agreed to do before
entering the country.

Peter, sensing trouble ahead with the government and wishing
not to be present when it came, decided to leave Canada for a
time. With Anastasia Holubeova and another young woman, he
set out for New York. The party included old Ivan Mahortoff,
now ninety-eight years of age, Semon Rebin, Peter’s private
secretary, and two “delegates who might look for land.”

They arrived in New York in September, and established them-
selves in the Hotel Marlborough. Each morning Peter took his
entomrage for a walk, during which he preadied on the bustle and
iniquity of urban life. The better to impress them, he at times
found it necessary to see each alone in his room, and thus it was
that the instruction in Christian living often lasted through the
night.

238

SLAVA BOHU

On September 26, he sent a telegram to the Society of Friends
in Philadelphia: “I, Peter Verigin, from Dukhobors arrived in
New York. Desire to meet you in Philadelphia or other place
named by you. Answer immeiately.”

The Quakers had had no previous intimation that he was in
New York or that he contemplated honoring them with a visit.
Joseph Elkington Jr., who now had a shrewder insight into
Dukhobor affairs, invited the party to Philadelphia.

When they arrived, Peter said, through his interpreter, “We
came here to visit you, because we might go to Russia, and we
thought we should see our friends who have helped us so much
in the past. Praise God.”

Elkington, bent on getting to the bottom of their passive re-
sistance to Quaker schools, questioned Peter as if he were in the
witness stand. Peter blandly evaded direct answers.

“Are you pleased that the Society of Friends has opened a
school at Petrofka on the North Saskatchewan River, and
brought Herman Fast from Rumania to teach in it?” asked
Elkington.

“I think that all the brothers and sisters will soon decide to
move from the North Saskatchewan River Colony and join with
the Dukhobors near Yorkton,” Peter replied.

“Why should they leave their fertile farms?”

“They wish to be near the other brothers.”

“Did you ask them to move?”

“No, I advised them not to move, but they must decide for
themselves. That is the Dukhobor way,” said Peter, looking down
at his shiny Russian boots.

Elkington, aware that Peter had strongly urged the North
Saskatchewan Colony to move, but that it had for the most part
refused, asked why Hannah Bellow’s school had been closed.

“She did not dress or thixik like the Dukhobors," said Peter,
“so they did not want her to teach their children.”

Elkington, who had reliable information that Peter had told
the families with children to move away from the school, con-
tinued to ask questions which brought forth evasive answers and
calculated lies.

Peter said he greatly favored education, and that schoolhouses
were being built in each of the sixty villages, but that not all
Dukhobors thought as he did, and each had the right to his own
opinions. That was the Christian way.

LAND REVERSION 239

“Then why are horses and cattle being kept in some of the
schools?” Elkington asked.

“That is very sad,” said Peter. “But in some villages there are
not yet enough buildings, and the poor animals who toil with us
in the fields must also have a warm place to sleep.”

Asked for the second time if he objected to the Society of
Friends bringing young Peter Makaroff and several other Dukho-
bor children to farms near Philadelphia, Verigin said he wished
the Dukhobors and the Quakers “could ^ve a better understand-
ing of education.”

Peter turned the conversation to land, but he made no men-
tion of his advice to his followers that they refuse to comply
with the Homestead Act, nor of the gathering storm which must
break upon their heads as a result of their stubbornness at his
direction. He said the brothers and sisters might wish to buy
1,000 acres near Philadelphia, and added that they would not wish
to become citizens of the United States.

The party, standing or sitting at barely perceptible signs from
Peter, visited Arch Street Meetinghouse, Independence Hall, and
Select School. Peter and Ivan Mahortoff addressed the Alumni
Association, and wherever the party went, Paul Planedin, of
saintly countenance, gave his listeners the benefit of his knowl-
edge of polemics and the Christian way.

Having accomplished all that might be expected in Philadelphia,
Peter and his troupe, with the exception of Semon Rebin who
returned to Canada, boarded a steamer for Europe. En route to
St. Petersburg via Berlin they visited the Reichstag. Anastasia,
looking up into the great dome above the building which housed
the German lawmakers, began to sing, others of the group joining
her. German guards, astounded at this breach of kultur, ordered
the Dukhobors out of the building.

Peter did not go to Caucasia. At St. Petersburg he gained an
interview with Stolypin, the minister of the interior, who held out
no hope for Peter’s proposal that the Dukhobors return to Rus-
sia, there to settle in a contiguous group on some frontier “where
there is good land and where the Christians would pay taxes to
the government, but not at the same time be conscripted in an
army.”

Records are not available of how Peter and his party spent the
remainder of their visit in Russia, but within two months he re-
ceived woeful letters from the Dukhobors stating that the “Cana-

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SLAVA BOHU

dian government will take our land because we will not be sub-
jects of the English King.”

The minister of the interior, had moved speedily. Late in 1906,
he appointed a commission, under the chairmanship of John Mc-
Doug^l, to investigate Dukhobor lands. Early in January of
1907, McDougall with his staff, which included Michael White,
official interpreter, drove with horses and sleighs through deep
snow and bitter cold. They ascertained who had complied with
the law and who had not, and explained the government’s final
intention. Their verbal explanations were supplemented by a cir-
cular letter in English and Russian which they distributed among
the people of every colony.

Besides engaging in involved arguments with Commissioner
McDougall, the faithful sent lengthy petitions and delegations
to the minister of the interior.

“The Earth,” said one of these epistles, “is God’s creation.
The Earth is our common mother who feeds us, protects us, re-
joices with love from the moment of our birth until we go to
our eternal rest in her maternal bosom.”

But not even this poetical entreaty, as if penned by a Nekrasov,
could soften the “stone heart” of the government. The govern-
ment agents went about their task of repossessing “Gk)d’s earth”
with a quiet but disturbing air of finality.

By June, every Dukhobor man who had failed to comply with
the Homestead Act, was made to relinquish all but fifteen acres
for himself and fifteen acres for each member of his family.
Thus, nearly 100,000 acres of Community land, some of whiA
had been cultivated, reverted to the government and for the sec-
ond time became available to homesteaders willing to possess it
in accord with the laws of Canada.

Because of the trek of Community Dukhobors from the North
Saskatchewan River Colony to join their brothers of the Thunder
Hill and South colonies, and the abandonment of a number of
homesteads by Independents who desired land removed from the
vicinity of Communal villages, there were a total of 1,600 home-
steads of one hundred and sixty acres each thrown open for
settlement at Prince Albert and Yorkton land offices. In Yorkton,
so great was the rush for land by non-DukhioW settlers that
many more applicants than there were homesteads besieged the
land office for days. To cope with these land-hungry men, Royal
North West Mounted Police kept order from early morning until
late at night. Applicants were allowed to form in line for each

LAND REVERSION

241

day’s township. Wooden railings resembling cattle chutes were
built inside the land office to ensure the applicants would reach
the counter one at a time and in the order of priority in the queue.
Early each morning the police cleared the sidewalk so as to give
every prospective settler an even chance. The Community Dukho-
bors, for the most part, accepted their loss of land with a fatalistic
“We knew it would happen.”

Peter Verigin, on his return to Canada, found the number of
Dukhobors living on land for which the heads of families had
signed in accord with law, had increased to 1,000. These were
now British subjects in name, though many continued an alle-
giance to Petushka.

While the increase in “Independents,” of varjdng degree of
independence, was a blow to Peter, he was pleased to find that
those who had accepted their fate and fifteen acres within his
Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood were even more
faithful than before.

Throughout the summer of 1907, Verigin urged his followers
to work hard on the land that remained theirs, the younger men
to work on the railway grades and in lumber camps, and turn
every cent into the Community fund. He planned to purchase a
large block of land outright, whereby his subjects need not become
British subjects to hold their homesteads. Eventually, he turned
his eyes to the Province of British Columbia.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

NUDITY IN FORT WILLIAM

WHEN THE HUSH of late summer, which invariably pre-
cedes the hum of harvest on the prairies, had settled over the
ripening grain, and the birds hiding in the stillness of the woods
gathered strength for their flight in the fall, there was, in that
August of 1^7, a significant restiveness among the Sons of
Freedom. At first, Ivan Kislin, and other bearded prophets,
philosophized only within their inner circles; but soon each was
openly preaching for a great exodus.

“The time has come,” said Ivan, “when we must all go to that
place of freedom and eternal sun, where we will live happily in
the Spirit of Christ”

Peter Verigin said little concerning this evangelizing, other than
that “each must decide for himself.” Some among the apostles
held him a traitor to God’s way of life, and these, ever a dis-
turbing factor in the community, he hoped would depart never
to return. Moreover, a pilgrimage with its consequent publicity
might embarrass the goveriunent, with the result that he could
say that his persecuted people had been driven from their land by
p heartless government.

The zealots were disappointed when only eighty including
twenty boys and girls eventually set out down the railway trade
in search of the promised land. Ivan and the apostles, who had
hoped for a mass exodus, contented themselves with sorrowful
prayers for those “who do not yet see the light” ; and the pilgrims,
singing melancholy psalms, set out with some money in their pock-
ets to buy food along the way, marched on foot in the same direc-
tion as had the pilgrimage of 1902. Passing by Minnedosa this
time, when they reached Wiimipeg, they rested several days in All
Peoples Mission, where the superintendent, J. S. Woodsworth
was kind to them, but declined their sever d invitations to join
the expedition. They continued to Kenora, Ontario. In the rugged
rock and evergreen country by the northern edge of Lake of the
Woods, it was blueberry time, and they gathered pails of fruit,
ate all they required and sold the surplus to merchants in the town.
For small rent they procured a vacant building not far from the

242

NUDITY IN FORT WILLIAM

243

railway roundhouse. They slept on the floor, their bodies lying like
spokes in several wheels, heads on the communal pillows form-
ing grotesque hubs. Railwaymen and townsfolk peered in on them,
and Jimmy Rutledge, a lad who worked in the yards, was so
curious that almost every evening he came to hear them talk of
God and Christ.

In October they resumed their journey, and arousing curiosity
in many persons along the three hundred miles to Fort William,
they reached that port on the north shore of Lake Superior, No-
vember 1. There were seventy-eight of them by actual count of
the city police.

“Why are you counting us ?” asked Boris Sachatoff in English.

“To find out how many of you there are,” said the sergeant,
not unkindly.

“That is not necessary,” replied Boris. “God has already
counted us. He knows how many we are.”

Boris Sachatoff, who had joined them in the West, became
their spokesman. A Russian-Jew who once mended watches in
New York, he was a weaver of theories about life, love, liberty,
politics, and the pursuit of happiness here and hereafter. Like
the Sons of Freedom he had allowed his beard to grow, and, scis-
sors had not recently touched his hair which flowed back from
his generous ears. With bright brown eyes peering from beneath
bushy eyebrows, he was most happy when propounding a philo-
sophical theory. Though his enunciation of English was tinged
with the phonetics of Russian, his volubility in both languages
equaled his enthusiasm.

Now, with the Russian-speaking Sons of Freedom as back-
ground, Boris enjoyed unprecedented opportunity to command the
attention of audiences. He addressed the citizens of Fort William
on more than one occasion. Representing himself as a Dukhobor,
he propounded “our belief in freedom” to government officials;
and to Robert L. Borden, Leader of the Conservative party, who
with Police Chief Dodds of Fort William, visited the pilgrims
in the rambling old house that had once been an Anglican parson-
age and later a house of ill fame, and in which now the Dukhobors
were to live until spring.

The Sons were pleased to have such a man as Sadiatoff among
them. That he represaited himself as a Dukhobor mattered little,
for at any time they could deny that he was one of them. Besides,
there were zealots among the pilgrims who held any man a true
Dukhobor, a true Son of Freedom, if he but lived up to the prin-

244

SLAVA BOHU

ciples. When a reporter on the Daily Times- Journal came to inter-
view the pilgrims, Sachatoff, referring to himself as “Paul,”
replied to the questions with impressive seriousness.

“My people,” said Sachatoff standing very erect; “my people
desire to leave Canada, because here it is very cold, and also they
are opposed to government in any form. They believe in every
man governing himself as an equal and a brother. No property,
no ownership of land, no crime, no prisons, no interference, no
laws and no need for laws. No man should be punished on earth.
Animals should not be killed nor enslaved to toil for men. . . .
War is wholesale murder.”

“Where will you go from Canada?” asked the reporter, who
was conscious of a feeling of inferiority before the saintlike stolid
faces watching him.

Sachatoff could not say definitely. They would remain in Fort
William during the winter. In spring they would go to Mon-
treal “and then across the water.” How they would accomplish
these things, they themselves did not know, nor were they wor-
ried. “The Lord,” said Sachatoff with a gesture of finality, “the
Lord will provide.”

During November and December they lived quietly in the old
parsonage, and both men and women obtained casual jobs. There
was brotherhood among them, each sharing with the other, and
some, at times, becoming so filled with ze^ous generosity, they
gave away to outsiders, odds and ends of their small possessions.

For some unrevealed reason, on New Year’s Day of 1908,
twelve men and seven women chose to demonstrate their belief in
freedom by parading nude through the snowy streets of Fort
William. Astonished citizens looked out from their frosted win-
dows, and then went to their doors. Soon a half-embarrassed,
chuckling, giggling group of spectators followed on the sidewalk.
But the DuIAobors seemingly paid as little attention to the “ig-
norant ones” as they did to tiie sub-zero weather. They went down
the center of residential Dease Street as naked as the day Aey
were bom.

In his house on Dease Street, Herbert A. Tremayne, manager
of the Hudson’s Bay fur depot, heard a dirge so mournful, when
compared with the reveling songs of the night before, that he
attributed the eerie melody to the same cause from whence ramp
his heada^e, and, wait on with his shaving. But as the singing
persisted in his ears, becoming louder and louder, he looked out

NUDITY IN FORT WILLIAM 245

of the window, saw the naked men and women trudging through
the snow, and nicked himself with his razor.

The growing parade continued until policemen herded the
naked section of it into Robert’s Pool Room. Police Chief Dodds
and Mayor Murphy ordered blankets and horse-drawn cabs, and
the Dukhobors rode serenely back to their parsonage.

“It is terrible,” said Vasili, “how the English Christians drink
vodka and shout all night on what they cdl their New Year’s
evening. But when we who do not drink even wine, do not smoke
tobacco, do not eat meat ; when we go for a walk with our bodies
as Gk)d made them, then they are very surprised and make us go
home.”

“Da, da, and all because we have broken a man-made law
which does not concern us,” sighed Andri.

The novelty of a nude parade on New Year’s Day in Fort
William provided Boris Sachatoff with renewed opportunity for
philosophizing to citizens who sought explanations for this strange
behavior.

In February it was revealed to Ivan Kislin that he should fast
for forty days. The fasting proved too much for his weakened
body, and he died. His brothers, who had neither called a doctor
nor notified anyone, held a meeting to decide what to do with the
corpse. They lifted it, covered with a blanket, onto a sled. Twelve
men and twelve women harnessed themselves to a long rope and
set out for the “English cemetery.”

A curious crowd followed on either sidewalk. A policeman
stopped them.

“What have you got on that sleigh?” he asked.

“Only a corpse,” replied Nikolai who knew some English.

“Only a corpse!” echoed one of the spectators.

“Where do you think you are taking it?” the policeman asked,
pulling out his note book.

“To English cemetery.”

“Have you a permit for burial?”

"Chawar

“Have you a paper, a permit? You cannot bury a body without
a permit.”

“Jesus Christ gave him permit when he died. Man-made permit
not necessary,” said Nikolai who went on to explain that the
corpse did not need a coffin either. “He” would feel as comfortable
without one. Nor was a grave necessary. If “he” were put in a

246

SLAVA BOHU

grave, the foxes could not eat him, and the foxes were God’s
creatures, needing food as did humans.

But the policeman insisted that the body be taken to the under-
takers. There, Dr. Birdsall, the coroner, pronounced starvation
the cause of death. In the course of the inquiry the coroner’s jury
visited the old parsonage. The place was almost bare of furni-
ture. Upstairs in a large room, which at the time was very warm,
men, women and children, all in a nude state, sat on the floor or
stood eyeing the “visitors.” In the center of the floor was a com-
munal pile of peanuts and apples. Members of the jury noted
that the Dukhobors ate only vegetables, fruits and nuts, and
these uncooked.

Whatever their faults and vagaries, the sons and daughters of
freedom neither begged nor stole. Their wants were simple, and
these they supplied from money earned at labor.

When the snow had gone and the days became warm toward
the end of March, they began sunning their nude bodies in the
3 rard of the parsonage. Whether to plant a garden which would be
a garden of Eden and at the same time provide them with vege-
taWes, or whether to continue on their way to the promised land,
they were tumble to decide.

“We should wait until the Spirit tells us,” said Tania.

In the meantime, the neighbors complained to the police, and
they found it necessary to patrol the house each day, to keep the
curious from going in. And when two commercial travelers were
caught peeping and fined $1 and costs for trespassing, they pro-
tested loudly at the indignity of being arrested by a full-blooded
Red Indian, Simon Penassi, six-feet tall in his moccasins and
fearless guardian of the law.

On a Sunday morning, the constable on picket duty reported
to headquarters that naked Dukhobors were burning their cloth-
ing on an adjacent lot. Chief Dodds and Inspector Watkins ar-
rived to see men and women running from the house to the fire,
tossing clothing on the flames.

“Stop that!” shouted the chief.

But the naked sons and daughters, as if they had not heard
him, continued to throw clothing on the fire.

Out from the doorway hobbled a woman, a skirt in her hands ;
behind her an elephantine man carrying his trousers. To the fire
they ran resignedly droppixig thdr clothing in tibe flames; plod-
ding back toward the house.

Chief Dodds picked up a wet, muddy broom which was leaning

NUDITY IN FORT WILLIAM 247

against the door and swatted the big fellow across his bare but-
tocks as he entered.

“Home run !” shouted a bystander, and cheers and laughter rose
from the amused and slightly blushing crowd in the street. Had
Boris Sachatoff described this incident in Yiddish, he would have
said, “Er hot ihm a patsh geton in hinten.”

After this circus, which Chief Dodds and Inspector Watkins
viewed in good humor, the chief warned the Dukhobors that they
would be arrested and imprisoned if they persisted in appearing
nude in public. He explained to them tl^t the citizens had just
as much right to expect them to clothe themselves when outside
of their own houses as the faithful might have to go naked with-
in it.

Complaints of nudity continued to reach the police station.
Naked men and women walked in the vicinity of die parsonage.
The police arrested nineteen offenders, ten men and nine women,
who had burned their clothes. They were taken to the police
station and on April 2, sentenced to six months for “indecent ex-
posure.”

Magistrate Palling committed the men to Central Prison and
the women to Mercer Reformatory in Toronto. It was then a
problem to convey the naked prisoners the five miles to Port
Arthur Jail, the first lap of their journey East. Horse-drawn cabs,
and bla^ets which the Sons of Freedom refused to wrap arotmd
themselves, were ordered. In Port Arthur, Gaoler Penfold ob-
jected to receiving the naked prisoners, and the police compelled
them to use their blankets. The government of the province of
Ontario was opposed to housing the prisoners in Ontario jails.
“Send them bade to Saskatchewan where they belong,” was the
cry. Conservative members took advantage of the situation to
remind the Liberals of their original sin of bringing “these mad
Russian fanatics to Canada.”

After negotiations with the department of justice, Ottawa, all
the Sons of Freedom, induding the prisoners who h^ not served
their sentence, were loaded into two Canadian Pacific colonist cars
and dispatched to Yorkton, Saskatchewan, under police sur-
veillance.

When the train steamed into Yorkton early one morning toward
the end of April, the usual inquisitive crowd had gathered on
the station platform. The returning pilgrims, looking from the
windows of their coaches, began undressing. Mounted police-
men, several of them English bachelors with a Victorian sense of

248

SLAVA BOHU

propriety, warned away the curious and locked the coach doors.

While they waited on a sidetrack by the grain elevators, the
Dukhobors mimched apples and peanuts. At the same time, York-
ton’s town council dispatched frantic telegrams to the Honorable
Frank Oliver, minister of the interior, to the Honorable A. B.
Aylesworth, minister of justice, and to others in authority :

“Fort William contingent of vagrant and presumably insane
Dukhobors shipped here in charge of ofiScial of Ontario govern-
ment. Still in coaches here. Induced to come to Yorkton under
misrepresentations that they were going to warmer climate.
Dukhobors in surrotmding villages refuse to acknowledge them.
Citizens strongly protest against their being dumped here. Some
twenty of them in nude state endeavoring to indecently expose
themselves. Provincial government informs us matter is being
taken up with immigration department of Dominion government.
Matter extremely urgent. Please wire immediate instructions.”

When Peter Verigin was approached, he said he could not be
responsible for the “mad brothers.”

The town of Yorkton refused to assume the responsibility for
two carloads of fanatics from Ontario, who would purchase noth-
ing but peanuts and apples from the local merchants.

The government of Saskatchewan declined to act, since the
Dukhobors had been brought into the country before Saskatche-
wan was carved out of the Northwest Territories in 1905.

The Ontario government was not responsible, nor the city of
Fort William, because the Dukhobors had gone to Ontario from
Saskatchewan.

The Federal government was not responsible because the prov-
ince of Saskatchewan was the domicile of the Dukhobors.

In the telegrams back and forth, the authorities attempted to
shift responsibility one to the other.

In the meantime, the Canadian Pacific Railway Company re-
quired its colonist coaches, and a grain elevator agent complained
that the sidetrack was beginning to smell because there were no
sanitary arrangements other than those ordinarily provided in a
railway coach.

So mounted police herded the sons and daughters of freedom
across the tracks to the Exhibition Grounds and into the Agri-
cultural Hall. After they had stayed there aWt three weeks and
had eaten several bushels of peanuts, they were removed to a
house on the outskirts of Yorkton, because the Yorkton Exhi-

NUDITY IN FORT WILLIAM 249

bition Board would soon require the Agricultural Hall for the
annual fair and circus.

The mounted police arrested twelve ringleaders who were sen-
tenced to six months on a charge of vagrancy. Those who were
not arrested now refused food, so their ^ildren were taken away
from them and the most emaciated adults fed with a stomach
pump. Eventually, worn out with the struggle against the gov-
ernment, against the police, against wearing clothes, against eat-
ing, against themselves, they turned against their againstness,
and agreed to depart for their villages.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

BRITISH COLUMBIA TREK

VERIGIN, WHO FOR MONTHS had been considering
moving his followers to a place of seclusion, “where no govern-
ment will interfere,” set out westward for the province of British
Columbia, intendi^ to purchase land outright, thus to avoid
the objectionable Homestead Act and its consequences of British
citizenship.

Before he left Saskatchewan, most of his followers of the
North Saskatchewan River Colony hitched their communal
horses and Wc^ons to all that was moveable, and trekked east-
ward across the prairie to join the faithful in the South and
Thimder Hill colonies. Duldiobors who remained were “Inde-
pendents,” of var3dng degree. They held no allegiance to Peter
Verigin, but insisted they were Dukhobors nevertheless.

In Petrofka village of the North Saskatchewan River Colony,
education had gained a foothold. The limited success of the
Quaker school there had been a factor in Peter’s decision to aban-
don the colony. A potential threat to his authority was the Sas-
katchewan government's declared intention to open school dis-
tricts throughout the settlement.

To the ^aker school in Petrofka went Gregori Makaroff’s
son, Peter, who with the other venturesome ones had returned
from the Quaker farm schools near Philadelphia. And now
Gregori announced that his son should have high school educa-
tion.

Young Peter Makaroff along with the twenty Dukhobor boys
and several girls who studied in Petrofka schoolhouse, were
favorably impressed with their teacher, Eleanor Martin, who won
their hearts with patient kindness. Wilna Moore, daughter of a
Presbyterian missionary, an energetic and well-intentioned soul
interested in far-off places, came to teach conversational English.
Herman Fast, the Holland bom pacifist, who, with his Russian
wife had come from Rumania to Saskatchewan at the sugges-
tion of the Philadelphia Quakers, continued to teach Russian.
The hospitable Fast home was a center of culture for teachers,
students, and for several young men from St. Petersburg, who

250

BRITISH COLUMBIA TREK 251

had been lured to Canada by Fenimore Cooper’s book, The Last
of the Mohicans.

On his return from the mountains of southern British Colum-
bia, Verigin ignored the heretical North Saskatchewan River
Colony. It was in the Thunder Hill and South colonies that he
unfolded his vision of exodus from the wide prairies of Saskatche-
wan to the narrow valleys of the Kootenay country.

“The land is new. Few people are living there, and on it grow
large trees which we will use to build new houses,” he told Aem.

“Will woollen bourkas be necessary to keep out the rain in win-
ter, like in the Wet Mountains ?” asked a woman.

“The rain there is not cold, nor is the snow as deep as in the
Wet Mountains,” Peter replied. “There is enough rain, but if rain
should not always come, water flows out of the mountains, and
we will use it for our land. It is possible to grow many fruits;
apples, plums, cherries, pears, and strawberries — even water-
melons — without hotbeds,” he said.

Sons of Freedom were pleased with the prospect of living in a
country where horses, sheepskin coats and machinery coifld be
dispensed with. This country, about 1,000 miles to the southwest,
seemed like a promised land.

Community Dukhobors believed that all the good Dukhobors
could live better on 30,000 acres in British Columbia than they had
been able to do on 300,000 acres in Saskatchewan.

“Even if the land will cost as much as thirty dollars an acre
in Kolombia, we will there be better off,” said Ivan Konkin.

“In British Columbia,” Peter explained, “We will buy our
land and own it. So it will not be necessary to be subjects of the
English King to keep our lan^ No schools are there, and the air
is very pure, like in Switzerl^d, so we will live in good health,
in a Christian way, with no government to bother us, no rheuma-
tism, and few mosquitoes, slava Bohu.”

Leaving behind him enthusiasm for an exodus, Peter returned
to British Columbia where, near Nelson, an advance party of
eighty-five Community men under the direction of John Sher-
binin, cleared land on which Verigin had taken an option to pur-
chase. Sherbinin, who spoke English with comparative ease, and
was recognized for his cleverness with machinery, ran the saw-
mill, and that fall the first houses of the new settlement of Brilliant
were built.

Nikolai Zibaroff, with a zeal reminiscent of his first years in
Canada, went with an advance party fifty miles farther west to

252

SLAVA BOHU

the town of Grand Forks, where they cut logs for houses of a
second colony.

In the spring of 1909, Verigin took up his option on the first
land of the Brilliant Colony near the old gold mining camp known
to prospectors as Waterloo Camp.

Eight hundred Dukhobors left Saskatchewan in a special
train to Kootenay Landing where, for the first time since they
had crossed the ocean, they found themselves on a boat again,
but this time on a long narrow lake and happily close to shore.
In the Brilliant and Grand Forks colonies, they set to work with
a will, clearing land, planting vegetables, building houses. Again
they showed Sieir ability and enthusiasm in plowing virgin soil.

Peter Verigin had borrowed $100,000 from a loan company,
pledging Community land in Saskatchewan as security. With
this loan together with money from the Sasketchewan central
treasury and sums coaxed from the pockets of migrating Duk-
hobors, he financed the British Columbia settlement.

In 1910 another contingent came. A lumber mill was built,
fruit trees planted, and from previously cultivated land purchased
from English ranchers, a harvest of fruit was gathered.

In the same year, Verigin bought the jam factory from the
Kootenay Preserving Company in the town of Nelson, twenty-
five miles east of Brilliant. So great was the industry and clean-
liness of the Dukhobors who worked in the factory, that soon
the plant was selling more jam than had its original owners.
John Sherbinin named the Dukhobor jam “K C. Brand,” a
trade name that was to become famous with Western Canadian
housewives.

In 1911, more than 1,000 men, women and children came, and
more virgin forest gave way to orchards. On the Grand Forks
property, Peter Verigin selected a ranch house for his home, a
commodious place of English colonial architecture, on a hillside
overlooking a fruit grove.

He extended the communal way of living, by ordering that
two large houses should constitute a small village on about one
hundred acres of land. Built in pairs, each two-story house accom-
modated thirty-five to fifty persons. The upstairs was divided into
bedrooms, approximately nine to ten feet square; each with a win-
dow, and a doorway covered by curtains. Downstairs was the
large room with its long table and benches, and a combination
kitten and dining room, also with a table, benches, and a Russian
oven. Back of eadi house was a storehouse and a bathhouse, and.

BRITISH COLUMBIA TREK

253

farther removed, an outdoor toilet. All were kept clean with much
scrubbing, but were insufficiently ventilated, in accord with Duk-
hobor tradition.

Brilliant was the business center, and here John Sherbinin
ordered clothing and tools by wholesale carloads, to the displeasure
of the retail merchants of Nelson and Grand Forks. Each Com-
munity member could ask for whatever goods required. Seldom
did anyone take away more than their share, because in the com-
munal houses each Imew what the other brought home from the
warehouse.

The children were above average in health, except for tuber-
culosis. Doctors were seldom called, either for children or adults.
Peter Verigin, himself a model of physical health, spoke con-
temptuously of the medical profession. But he equipped a dispen-
sary and hospital near Brilliant, engaging a quack doctor to
ensure the venture being the failure that it was. After the services
of the quack had been dispensed with, he maintained the empty
building as a reminder to the unfortunate Dukhobors who had
been treated there, and as a show place for visitors.

New though fruit-growing was to the Dukhobors, their
orchards were the cleanest and most productive in the Kootenay
country. They acquired skill in grafting fruit trees, and from
their vineyards on the hill slopes of Grand Forks Colony they
measured the grape harvest in tons.

Not against doing profitable business with the government
they sold bricks, baked in their own kiln at Grand Forks, for
government buildings.

In Brilliant Colony they built a concrete reservoir having a
capacity of 1,000,000 gallons. From this Peter planned to pipe
water to the villages. The reservoir would be filled from a moun-
tain spring supplemented by a pumping plant on the banks of the
Kootenay River. The plant, one of the largest in the interior of
British Columbia, later generated electricity.

Besides the two main colonies of Brilliant and Grand Forks,

ttlements spread to Champion Creek, Glade, Pass Creek and
Cjrescent Valley. By the autumn of 1912, there were more than
5,000 Dukhobors in British Columbia. At least seven hundred
were “school diildren” who had never set foot inside a school,
and whose knowledge of the English language was much less
than that of the average French-Canadian boy or girl of Quebec
province.

For the 14,403 acres, all but $321,079 had been paid on the

254

SLAVA BOHU

total purchase price of $646,007, and the land had considerably
increased in value. Titles to the property were registered in the
name of Peter Verigin, who willed it to the Community at his
death.

As Peter himself said, all would have been well within his
new empire, had the government not interfered by attempting
to have the children attend school, and by trying to collect statis-
tics of births, marriages and deaths.

Under pressure from school authorities in Grand Forks, the
Dukhobors of that colony sent a few children to school. But
attendance dwindled and within twelve months ceased entirely.
Peter built a school at Brilliant where selected children attended
during one term, after which he closed the school and told the
authorities that, “the Dukhobors do not wish to send their chil-
dren to school.

When Dukhobors at Grand Forks repeatedly refused to regis-
ter deaths among them, four men were sentenced to three months
imprisonment in Nelson Jail for violation of the “Births, Deaths,
Marriages and Registration Act.”

To Ihe Dukhobors, these “poor prisoners of a harsh govern-
ment” became martyrs. They were Nikolai Zebin, Ivan Negrin,
Ivan and Vasili Demovskoff.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

FURTHER PHILOSOPHIZING

THE ELASTIC CREED of the Sons of Freedom allowed
for various interpretations within the cult. Near Canora, Saskatch-
ewan, was a particular group not averse to their children learning
to read and write outside government schools. To this intelligent-
sia, Boris Sachatoff, the Russian Jew of the Fort William epi-
sode, now attached himself. He lived in their villages, except
for brief periods when he turned to his trade of watchmaker to
earn a few dollars. His needs, like his clothes, were few. He
neither smoked, drank, nor gambled. In a stout fair-haired
daughter of freedom he found temporary affinity. Many an
interesting philosophical discussion he had with another watch
repairer, Sergei Petroff, who had come to Canora from Kharkov.
Petroff, originally a draughtsman, had journeyed from Russia
to Saskatchewan to live with the Dukhobors about whom he had
read, and whom he considered ‘'dear good Christian people.”

Petroff’s wife, Grunia, a kindly, impulsively optimistic woman
with restless blue eyes, was a Russian Jewess, also enamored of the
Christian idealism of the Sons of Freedom Dukhobors. Staying
with the Petroff’s in Canora was Count Vasili Vasilivich Kap-
neist, young officer on extended leave from the Tsar’s army.
Another guest was Maria Alexandrovna Afanaseva of Petrograd,
who “came to Canada to die.” Only once did she speak of her
romance with Prince Michael Romanov, which had resulted in
this drastic decision. Her brown eyes enhanced with a sad beauty,
black hair reaching well past her waist, of stately carriage, she
was a woman to be looked at a second time in either St. Petersburg
or Canora.

Boris Sachatoff looked up to Maria, literally and metaphori-
cally. Their platonic friendship led to midsummer walking tours.
When rain threatened or the mosquitoes were particularly hun-
gry, they would stay overnight in a Sons of Freedom village.
At times they would camp in the bush, where around a fire they
discussed life’s inexplicabilities far into nights of stillness broken
only by the hooting of an owl or the wailing of a coyote.

During this period, Maria attempted to teach school at Veri-

255

256

SLAVA BOHU

gin. But this annoyed Peter who placed so many obstacles in her
way that she gave up the idea.

Her uncle in Russia having left to her a small fortune for
which now she had no use, she opened her large trunks, allowed
her friends to help themselves to dresses, books and jewelry.
This generosity was appreciated by the Sons of Freedom intelli-
gentsia, who were as commiuml with their possessions.

It was an idealistically happy little group, while it lasted. The
ultrahospitable Mrs. Petroff gave a farewell dinner to the sons
and daughters leaving for British Columbia.

But there were a few Sons of Freedom to whom Verigin’s
pseudo-promised land in British Columbia seemed a snare and a
delusion. They felt that Petushka was much too interested in
material things, and that his house near Verigin was too big for
one man, and an)nvay it was a waste because he did not live in it.

So one summer’s night, Alex Makasaeff, Alex Mahortoff and
Peter Holoboff, with about twenty men, women, and children,
marched singing h3unns to Peter’s unoccupied house. Before sun-
rise, they set it afire, took off their clothes, threw them in the fire
and stood there singing psalms of sorrow.

Peter was in British Columbia, Michael Cazakoff, Community
manager at Verigin, was six miles away. Cazakoff combed his
hair down over his forehead, cranked the commtmity automobile
and drove to the fire.

“Why have you done this terrible thing?” he shouted at the
naked men and women. “It is wrong to destroy property.”

“The house was too big,” said Alex Makasaeff. “We are sup-
posed to live equally.”

“The sky is a bigger house than it,” said Holoboff pointing
to the flames, “yet no one could bum a sky, because God made
the sky and under it is room for all creation.”

A crowd of Community people had gathered. The sun was
up. The upper story of the house collapsed in the flames, ^zakoff
sweated with heat, anger and fear. Lukian Verigin, a nephew of
Peter’s, brandished a whip at the Sons of Freedom. Vasili Podo-
vinikoff brought his horsewhip down over the naked back of Peter
Holoboff, and this seemed a signal for a general assault. Com-
munity men whipped and kicked the passive Sons of Freedom,
dragged them by their beards and hair.

“We will not run away,” shouted Alex Makasaeff, shielding his
face from the blows. “It is you who will suffer for this. You can
only whip our bodies, but God will whip your souls!”

FURTHER PHILOSOPHIZING 257

They did not run away, not even Scripnik the Ukranian “Ga-
lician” who had joined the cult that summer.

Cazakoff, his hair matted on his forehead, lips trembling, tele-
phoned the mounted police at Kamsack.

It was an hour before the red-coated Mounties came on their
horses. They ordered the naked women and children to their vil-
lages; they loaded the naked men into community wagons in
which they were hauled to Verigin, where they were held tempo-
rarily in a stable. Two days later, taken to Regina, they were sen-
tenced to imprisonment in Regina jail.

Alex Makasaeff never forgave Cazakoff for allowing the
brothers to be flogged at the Are. A year or so afterwards, just
before Christmas, Peter Holoboff, out of jail, died in the village
of Spasivka. Alex Makasaeff with eleven other Sons of Freedom
wrapped the body in a blanket and put it into a sleigh. Singing
mournful psalms, they pulled it through the snow over the five
miles to the brick community office in Verigin. Alex led the sons
into Cazakoff’s office, where they warmed themselves at the stove
but said nothing about what was in the sleigh, nor why they had
come.

Eventually Cazakoff’s curiosity overcame him.

“What have you in the sleigh?”

“Oh, dear brother,” said Makasaeff in dulcet tones, “it is a
present for you. A frozen fish for you for Christmas. We know
you are very fond of fish.”

“But do not look now,” said another, as Cazakoff appeared to
be going to the door. “You will only embarrass us as we do not
wish to be thanked for our generosity.”

“Good health to you, brother in Christ,” said Makasaeff as they
left.

Michael Cazakoff went out to the sleigh, and raising the blan-
ket, saw a pair of feet. Lifting it at the other end, he saw Peter
Holoboff’s corpse grinning at him, as if he, Holoboff, enjoyed this
grim joke.

Among other anno 3 rances to Peter Verigin were the two hun-
dred “bad Dukhobors” from Elizevetpolsk province, Caucasia,
who emigrated on their own to Canada in 1911, and had taken
individual homesteads in Langham and Asquith districts, not far
from the growing prairie city of Saskatoon. Composed entirely
of “heretics” and their descendants, who at the death of Lukeria
Kalmikova had refused to follow Peter, these settlers insisted on

258

SLAVA BOHU

wisiting and contaminating the “good Dukhobors” of Saskatche-
Vwan.

“Independents” in the North Saskatchewan River Colony were
abandoning village life and moving on their quarter sections,
where families lived unto themselves “like the Canadian fanners.”
Also in 191 1, the Canadian Northern Railway extended its branch
line from Prince Albert toward Battleford, cutting through the
heart of the settlement and further opening the way to Anglo-
Saxon civilization. On this new railway the town of Blaine Lake
sprang up, to become the commercial center for the Independent
Dukhobors. Peter’s Saskatchewan “empire” seemed to be falling
apart.

And from the Wet Mountains of Caucasia, came word that
nis son, Peter Petrovich Verigin, had become the semidivine ruler
of the Dukhobors whose fathers and mothers had refused to fol-
low him at the death of LukeriaJ In Constantinople, a minister
of the Ottoman government was considering the feasibility of
inviting the Community Dukhobors of Canada to Turkey, where
they would introduce agricultural methods superior to those of
the Turkish peasantry.

In Saskatoon, seventeen-year-old Peter Makaroff entered the
new University of Saskatchewan and was thus the first Dukhobor
to set foot inside a university since the sect’s inception in Mus-
kovy, some two hundred and fifty years before. For Makaroff and
other young Dukhobors who discovered for themselves the genius
of Leo Tolstoy, "Grandfather Leo Nikolaivich ” became more than
a legendary leader* Of a group 6'i lesser Uinstians. Tolstoy’s books,
now absorbed firsthand by eager minds, impelled individual search
for the answer to the everpresent question, "Stoi delats ?" —
“What to do?” — or how to live a life. His convincing conclusions
for non-violence as the true basis of man’s eventual brotherhood,
his relentless driving toward ultimates, his earthy novels and con-
stant admission of his OAvn fallibility — ^these, and less tangible
things, wedded men like Makaroff to Tolstoy. In 1910 Tolstoy
left his f^ily and manor house. He went “out into the world” to
“free” his soul. Eighty-two, still questing, probing the enigma of
life and death to his last days, he died at a wayside railway station.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ROYAL COMMISSION

IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, the Christian Community of
Universal Brotherhood's financial position continued to improve.
Frugality in village kitchens was part of Peter's plan to free his
colonies from indebtedness to loan and land companies. Sugar,
tea, and even milk were discouraged as luxuries. An)^hing more
than the roughest of clothing was frowned upon as extravagance.
Petushka himself set the fashion for men by wearing a frayed
straw hat, cotton shirt and trousers; he laced his leather shoes
with yellow binder twine.

His most enduring consort, Anastasia Holubeova, grown
stouter with her twenty-five years, wore a dress of cotton almost
covering her stockingless legs and a pair of sturdy shoes. Her one
feminine indulgence was a silk shawl knotted beneath her chin;
the headdress without which no self-respecting Community
woman could go as far as the woodpile.

Peter drove about his colonies in an open buggy pulled by one
horse. His black upholstered carriage, which would have done
credit to Spanish royalty, was left behind in the Community ware-
house at Verigin, Saskatchewan.

While the industry of the Dukhobors continued to command
the admiration of the non-Dukhobor population, they protested
to the Provincial government that the Duldiobors should be made
to obey the laws, send their children to school, and register their
Dirths, marriages and deaths.

The Dukhobors, in turn, sent petitions of protest to the British
Columbia government, on behalf of '"our brothers, imprisoned
only because they did not report the dead body of their relation."

Protestations from Dukhobors and non-Dukhobors caused the
British Columbia government to appoint the '"Royal Commission
on Doukhobors of 1912." On August 24, William Blakemore,
chosen by the Provincial government to be commissioner, took the
oath of office. Thus, “William Blakemore, of the City of Vic-
toria, became empowered by george the fifth, by the Grace of
God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and
of the British Dominions beyond the Seas, King, Defender of the

260

SLAVA BOHU

Faith, Emperor of India, in the matter of the ‘Public Enquiries
Act.’ ” He was vested with authority “to inquire into the organi-
zation, habits, customs, and practices of the Doukhobor Com-
mtmity at Grand Forks, Brilliant, and elsewhere in the Prov-
ince. . . .”

Equipped with this governmental authority and an expense
account, William Blakemore, Wolverhampton Englishman and
mining engineer, who had been editor of a weekly paper in Nel-
son in 1905, set out to fulfill his commission.

Peter Verigin provided the faithful with answers to any ques-
tions which might be asked them by the commissioner. With sly
satisfaction he went to the Nelson Court House to give testimony
in response to the commissioner’s general invitation. Straw hat
in hand and bowing politely, Peter had ample opportunity to in-
dulge in the Dukhobor art of ambiguous argument. The afiFable
Mr. Blakemore, who later acknowledged “the great readiness with
which the Duliobors and their leaders gave every information
desired,” was impressed with their truthfulness.

To enable him to arrive at conclusions concerning the antipathy
of the Dukhobors to the schools and Vital Statistics Act of Brit-
ish Columbia, he sought the cause of the Dukhobor’s antipathy to
governments in that part of the Northwest Territories which had
become Saskatchewan in 1905. Peter Verigin was only too pleased
to discuss Saskatchewan, for it gave him opportunity to divert
the commissioner’s attention from schools and education to how
land in Saskatchewan had been taken away from them by the
govenunent. Peter led the commissioner to believe that the Dukho-
bors were not made conversant with the laws of Qinada before or
at their arrival in Canada; and, furthermore, that all that was
originally required of them in Canada was that they should pay
$10 for each one hundred and sixty acres of homestead land
granted to them.

“I warned the government,” Peter answered Commissioner
Blakemore, “that the people [the Dukhobors] would not be sub-
ject to the British government, and they [the government] should
know that. They said [the government], ‘That is all right; you
will pay $10 for each homestead and you will be given the land.’
The Dukhobors positively told them [the government] that they
wanted to remain farmers, not to be subjects of the British Gov-
ernment. , . .”

“Now, I want to know who you gave that warning to?” Blake-
more asked.

ROYAL COMMISSION

261

“Mr. Obed Smith,” Peter replied, “the commissioner at Winni-
peg. And then I was in Ottawa several times and saw the min-
ister and spoke to him about it.”

“What minister ?” asked Blakemore.

“The minister of the interior, Mr. Sifton,” said Verigin.

“Mr. Verigin told Mr. Obed Smith, the immigration commis-
sioner, and the Honorable Mr. Sifton, the minister of the interior,
that the condition of the Dukhobors settling in this country was
that they would remain foreigners?” Blakemore asked.

“No, farmers,” said Verigin.

“And would not become British subjects ?” asked Blakemore.

“Yes, sir.”

“Was this done by word of mouth or in writing?”

“By word of mouth.”

“Was any such statement ever put in writing afterwards ?”

“No, never. They [the Dukhobors] paid $20,000; they made
such arrangements with the govenunent, and they paid $20,000
cash and Siey [the government] left them [the Dukhobors]
there. They [the Dukhobors] made $20,000 on the railways and
paid that to the government,” said Verigin. Verigin went on. On
and on. More about how the Dukhobors were given to under-
stand they need not become citi 2 ens, need not make individual
entries for their homesteads. About how surprised he was when
he, while in Russia during the winter of 1906-07, received letters
from the Dukhobors in Canada that the government was taking
their land away from them. “I did not believe the letters I re-
ceived from the Dukhobors, when I was on such good terms with
the government,” he said.

On September 12, Blakemore, with his stenographer and pho-
tographer and an escort of singing Dukhobors, crossed the blue-
green waters of the Columbia River on the Conamunity’s cable
ferry. He saw the neat Community buildings, the warehouse, the
outdoor baking ovens with great loaves of bread more than twelve
inches in thickness, and the eight-room hospital complete with
dispensary.

“Yes, our hospital is closed,” said John Sherbinin, “our people
are so healthy that there was no one for the hospital.”

Outside, the September sun scintillating on the emerald river
and lighting up the towering green hills, a fine vegetarian meal
was served on a sparkling white tablecloth. Borsh soup, perashki,
and watermelons grown almost from the very ground where the
table and benches stood.

262

SLAVA BOHU

John Sherbinin took the honored guests through well-kept
or^ards. They went in a democrat pulled by the best team in the
colony, saw the sawmills, the inviting cleanliness inside the com-
mtmal houses, the expanding irrigation system and the site^ for
the grain elevator and grist mill. The brothers on the prairies
wished to send wheat here, while the brothers in British Qjlum-
bia wished to send fruit to Saskatchewan, Sherbinin explained.

Back at the community meetinghouse, about 1,000 men, women
and children were assembled in ceremonial fashion. Then Gregori
Verigin and some of the older men came forward, hats in hands,
bowing a greeting to the commissioner. It was all very dignified
and impressive. Gregori spoke a welcome in Russian, John Sher-
binin interpreting.

“The brothers and sisters are very pleased that Commissioner
Blakemore is here to visit them.” They were sure now that there
would be no more misunderstandings. Praise God. It was unfor-
tunate that there had been some trouble, but in this imperfect
world there were always human beings who were enemies of
Christ and the peaceful life. Through Sherbinin, Blakemore
thanked the people for their hospitality, and praised their industry.
He, too, was glad of this opportunity to promote mutual under-
standing between the Dukhobors and the other people of British
Columbia all of whom looked to Christ as their leader.

The rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed children gathered in a group of
their own, girls on the left and boys on the right; they sang a
hymn which touched the heart of the commissioner. A fair-haired
lad, cap in hand and bowmg, approached him. The boy wished to
say he had been to school. Might he tell the commissioner about it ?

“I would be very pleased,” Blakemore said, patting the boy’s
head.

“Yes,” said young Maslaff, “I went to the government school
with the other bo 3 rs, and we thought it was very nice. For two
months we went. We loved our teacher, she was very kind to us
in the Spirit of Christ. Praise God. And we were sorry when she
went away and the school was closed.”

Blakemore’s face beamed at the boy and at the other children
who stood politely by.

“But we did not wish to go to school again, because our teacher
had been sent to us by the same government who put our people
in prison.”

Maslaff bowed. Blakemore coughed almost inaudibly. He said
that the government did not want to put anyone in prison, but

ROYAL COMMISSION 263

the parents had broken the law by not sending their boys and girls
to school. “How could it be helped ?” he asked the boy.

“It was very sad for us,” said the boy, “when we loved our
teacher so much.”

Blakemore said he would explain how it was that the men had
been put in jail. Someone said it was very important that everyone
should hear these things and to wait a few minutes, as there were
some men and women not present who should be listening.

When all was in readiness for the commissioner’s address, the
old folk had sent the boys and girls away, because it was not good
for children to have too much excitement on one day.

So the commissioner spoke to the men and women, who seemed
to listen to John Sherbinin’s translation with great attention. The
commissioner spoke of the benefits of education in public schools.
The government did not wish to teach an3rthing contrary to the
Dukhobor religion. It wished in every way to meet the wishes of
the community, even to teach Russian during part of the day. He
explained the necessity for registration of births, deaths and mar-
riages, and that there was no connection between this and register-
ing the men for army service.

At the close of his address, John Konkin and Timothy Sama-
roden related how they had been harshly treated by the Russian
government and banished from Caucasia because their religion
would not allow them to comply with the registration laws. They
wished to work on the land and live peacefully in British Colum-
bia, just as they had tried to do in Caucasia.

The sun was sinking behind the western rim of the mountains.
After a further exchange of courtesies the Dukhobors presented
Blakemore with a written account of the day. This report they
said, was to show their desire to be of service to the commissioner
and the government, even as sekretar.

Thanking them, Blakemore glanced at the document, written in
English. It began : “The Dukhobor inquiry commissioner, with his
secretary and photographer and others who accompanied him yes-
terday on a visit to the Dukhobor settlements on the banks of the
Columbia and Kootenay Rivers between Kinnaird and Brilliant,
spent a day of unique and varied interest.” After reviewing the
day’s activities, the report ended with a reference to the “har-
monious” relations between the commissioner and the Dukhobors,
and how he and his party were impressed with their hospitality
and the cleanliness and simplicity of their dwellings. It was ex-
plained that Peter Verigin had not been present, because he

264

SLAVA BOHU

wished the people to speak for themselves, and on this occasion
he had stayed away because he did not wish to influence what they
might say to the commissioner.

The commission went on with its sittings, collecting voluminous
oral testimony and letters. The commissioner sent a questionnaire
to Beulah Clarke, the teacher who taught school in Brilliant the
several months until all of the forty-eight Dukhobor children had
stopped attending.

Commissioner: 3. Q . — ^Did the food agree with you, or did you
suffer in any respect, especially from dyspepsia or any stomach
trouble?

Teacher: A . — The food agreed with me all right. I suffered
neither from dyspepsia nor stomach trouble. The lack of variety was
a bit hard.

Commissioner : lo. Q. — ^Had you any personal acquaintance with
Peter Verigin, Mr. John Sherbinin, Mr. John Konkin, Mr. George
Verigin? If so, will you please state fully your personal impressions
of ea(i, especially as regards to their character, their sincerity and
honesty of purpose?

Teacher : A . — I did not get to know Mr, Peter Verigin very well.
He called at the school one morning and seemed interested in the
work. He told me that his people would like to have me stay with
them as long as I felt I could. He asked me to teach the children
some English songs. I had no dealings with him. He was always very
pleasant when I met him, either bowing or shaking hands. Once he
remarked to someone standing there, that he would like to talk to me
if he could. I met Mr. John Sherbinin a number of times and I con-
sider him a man of strong character, great sincerity and honesty of
purpose. I do not know whether I Imow Mr. John Konkin or not.
His name is not familiar. If I knew his office, I could tell better. I
had no acquaintance with Mr. George Verigin.

Most of the letters and petitions to Commissioner Blakemore
were signed by Dukhobors other than Peter Verigin. Several of
these, for some reason tmrevealed, stated that the Dukhobors orig-
inated from the three Hebrew prophets, Shadrach, Meshach and
Abednego.

"By tradition of our forefathers the beginning of our Dukho-
bors originate from the three Israel adolescents, Shadrach,
Meshach and Abednego, whom the wicked Assyrian King
Nebuchadnezzar in Babylon, threw into the burning fiery fur-
nace,” wrote Simeon Verishagan on behalf of “The Christian

ROYAL COMMISSION 265

Qjmmunity of the Universal Brotherhood of the Dukhobors in
Canada.”

“In Quebec the Minister of Canada, Mr. Sifton, met us at the
railway station and complimented all with favor, and said:
'Glory to God that you come out of Russia as from Egypt, where
you and your forefathers terribly tormented now come to a coun-
try of liberty. Here you can rest and live your own faith as you
wish. All that will be required from you is that you pay $10 for
homesteads, and $2 for road taxes.’ ”

Another letter from the faithful declared that they had all
descended from Ananias. This, to the commissioner, must have
been an incongruous statement, when throughout his report he
stressed the truthfulness and frankness of the Dukhobors ; quali-
ties that the Holy Bible does not attribute to Ananias.

We are Israel posterity from the Adolescents — ^Ananias, Azer, and
Missel, whom King Nesser never could consign to the firestove. And
the followers of Jesus Christ Eternal Glory of King and Lord Our
Savior of all the Earth. Glory to God.

The Dukhobors Community of Brilliant, British Columbia.

Power of Attorney’s are:

CEAMUR BECUNBELURC BEPENGAENR

ANAEAMACUR MEPEMEVUMEBA

UBAN EBC KON-KUN

FLAGBUNA X CEMENEBA BEUKUNA

(neyanayual)

A probable explanation of the mysterious signatures at the end
of this and other epistles reproduced in Blakemore’s official report
is that the Dukhobors signed their names in Russian. Mr. Blake-
more in compiling his report did not have the names translated,
and resorted to the ingenious method of using all the English
equivalents of Russian diaracters and then substituting. The result
was the unconscious invention of a new language unintelligible to
English, Russian, or any other readers.

The interminable questions and answers, letters, and petitions
which eventually found their way into William Blakemore’s “Re-
port of Royal Commission on Dukhobors,” constitute a book.
Why Commissioner Blakemore did not include in his report testi-
mony of Aylmer Maude, who negotiated, on behalf of the Dukho-
bors at their request, the original arrangements with the Canadian
government, the commissioner did not state in his report. Aylmer
Maude made the two official Dukhobor delegates to Cana^, in

266

SLAVA BOHU

1898, conversant with the laws. Vladimir Tchertkov and Count
Leo Tolstoy were aware of the laws, homestead and otherwise,
in Canada. Maude, had he been asked for it, had that evidence.
Why Commissioner Blakemore did not include in his report testi-
mony from Clifford Sifton and other government officials — ^about
whom he accepted testimony from Peter Verigin — is not stated in
his report which resulted from four months’ continuous sittings of
the commission in British Columbia and Saskatchewan.

Leopold Sulerjitski, Prince Vladimir Hilkov, Herbert Archer,
and others who spoke both English and Russian, and who, in the
course of living among the Dhlchobors in Canada, had explained
to them the laws of Canada — ^no testimony from these men was
included in Blakemore’s report. Nowhere in it was mention made
of Peter Verigin’s declared intention, soon after his arrival in
Canada, to have the Dukhobors obey Canadian laws.

Were these and other omissions due to Blakemore’s gullibility
in the face of Dukhobor testimony, or inability to conduct an in-
vestigation? Or that the Conservative government of British
Columbia desired to show that the Liberal governments of Canada
and Saskatchewan had been negligent in acquainting the Dukho-
bors with the laws of the country, or that the appointment of the
Royal Commission on Dukhobors was only another commission to
placate the public and at the same time provide a party supporter
with a temporary position? Answers to these questions were not
given by Mr. Bl^emore in the compilation of his report.

In any event, Peter Verigin and his followers entertained Wil-
liam Blakemore throughout four months, at the conclusion of
which the commissioner shook what little confidence they may
have had in governments, by recommending, in effect, that the
Dukhobors abandon their traditional pacifism and become soldiers
in the army when called upon : “That it is in the best interests of
the country that the order in council granting exemption from
military service be cancelled.”

The major result of the Royal Commission’s Report on Dukho-
bors was that Verigin was able to show the faithful that “the gov-
ernment wishes to break yet another agreement with you by
forcing you to serve as soldiers in a war.”

Thus was the allegiance of the faithful to Peter Verigin in-
erted, and sympalhy for Canadian institutions still further
alienated. All of whi^ could have been accomplished without
spending many thousands of dollars on a commission launched
with the purport of solving the Dukhobor problem.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

WAR MADNESS

“PRAVDA, IT IS TRUE the Canadian government will send
soldiers from Canada to help the Englishmen fight against Ger-
mans in France,” said Peter Vasilivich Verigin to an anxious
Community meeting in Brilliant, August, 1914.

“But the government will not take our men to be soldiers in
an army?” a stout wife squeezed her hands in her apron.

“I have told them they must not take the Christians of the
Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood,” said Petushka.
“The Canadian government must let our men live peacefully in
the Christian way, on the land, with their wives and families, here
in British Columbia, and also in Saskatchewan province. Slava
Bohu. But for the unchristian brothers who have deserted us, those
calling themselves Independents, for them I can promise nothing.
They are not Dukhobors. If the government takes them away
across the ocean and makes them fight in an army, I will feel sorry
for them in the Spirit of Christ, but I will not be able to stop the
government, because they are not Dukhobors.”

In this way did Peter reassure the faithful and hint at the dire
fate for the Independents. Though enlistment in the Canadian
Expeditionary Force was on a voluntary basis during the first
years of the European War of 1914-18, his continued pronounce-
ments had the effect of strengthening allegiance to him within the
Community and frightening Independents so that they returned
to the fold.

That military conscription might become law in Canada, as in
Great Britain, would have driven still more Independents back to
the communal fold had it not been that wartime prices for agricul-
tural products were an inducement to reap profits independently;
though there were some Independents who remained independent
on principle, being influenced neither by fear of conscription nor
greed for profit.

Rising prices for railway ties, telephone poles and dressed lum-
ber led Verigin’s British Columbia colonies further into the lum-
bering industry. Community Dukhobors, with John Sherbinin in
charge, pushed north from Brilliant into the timber stands of the

267

268

SLAVA BOHU

Slocan River valley; and soon, logs from Porto Rico forest,
eighteen miles south of Nelson, were being fed into Community
saw mills.

Wartime wages were tempting younger Dukhobors to leave the
Community. With Peter’s sanction, John Sherbinin introduced
the novel idea of paying the men in logging camps and saw mills
with cheques, and when workers held out a few dollars of their
wages from the Community treasury, this laxity was expediently
overlooked.

On April 25, 1917, the Christian Community of Universal
Brotherhood Limited was incorporated under a Dominion charter,
with a capitalization of $1,000,000. Peter Verigin issued the mil-
lion shares to himself and thirteen Dukhobor directors, on whom
he could rely not to oppose him in his wildest dreams of expansion.
Total assets of the company were about three times that of the
capitalization.

While lumbering and fruit farming flourished on the mountain-
sides and in the valleys of British Columbia, money flowed into
the communal treasury from the wheat harvests in Saskatchewan.
In August, 1917, Number One Northern Wheat averaged $2.40
a bushel at Fort William.

Outside the Community, wages in harvest fields that fall were
from $6 to $9 for the customary fourteen-hour day, and a num-
ber of younger Dukhobors might have been enticed from the
Community, if military conscription had not been introduced that
autumn.

Peter Verigin continued to use the threat of military conscrip-
tion as a lever with which to pry more Independents into his com-
munal fold, and though this was effective with a few, the majority
now declined his protection as of doubtful value. He assured gov-
ernment officials, civil and military, that the Independents were
not Dukhobors, and that they were therefore not entitled to ex-
emption from military service on religious grounds.

In June of 1918, the Canadian government, with a view to
accelerating production of everything that would help to win
“the war to end war,” passed an act requiring every man and
woman residing in Canada of sixteen years of age or more, to
register and carry with them an official registration card. The
applicant for a registration card was required to answer questions
like, “Can you drive a tractor? Can you hitch up a team of
horses ?” The card became a “passport” after the Russian style, in
that without it “persons may not lawfully purchase transportation

WAR MADNESS 269

tickets and may be denied board and lodging in hotels . . . cannot
be lawfully employed . . . subject to fine and imprisonment.”

Four years of war in France had aroused patriotic Canadians
against the exemption from military service enjoyed by Dukho-
bors and Mennonites “who stay at home and get rich while good
Anglo-Saxon young men shed their blood on Flanders fields for
King and Country.”

More especially did this feeling run high against the Inde-
pendent Dukhobors, some of whom had built new houses and
bams, bought automobiles, threshing outfits, and additional quar-
ter sections of land. Talk was that the Independent young men of
military age would soon be conscripted into the army and sent to
France.

Rumors of conscription so disturbed the Independents that they
formed a society of their own and issued cards to their members;

“This is to certify that is a member

of the Society of Independent Dukhobors, otherwise known as
Dukhobors, and as such is specifically exempted from the effect
of the Military Service Act of 1917.”

Then, members of Parliament reassured the Independents, and
it was arranged that Military District Number 12 at Regina
would officially stamp the membership cards, when presented and
duly signed by two officials of the new society.

Peter P. Vorobieff, of Kamsack, Saskatchewan, was appointed
president, and Peter G. Makaroff, of Saskatchewan, was secre-
tary. Peter Makaroff, just out of university, was practicing law
in Saskatoon, the prairie city wherein real-estate dealers and the
Board of Trade boasted of the “Hub City” growing every day.
In university Peter had played inside left on the rugby team, had
made a showing at hockey and discus throwing, running, broad
and high jumping, and one year was university athletic champion.
Nevertheless, he was a confirmed pacifist. With characteristic
stubbornness he resisted the taunts of campus flag wavers. In
vigorous English he wrote to Richard Bedford Bennett, chairman
of the Canada Registration Board, to Prime Minister Borden, and
to other authorities, pointing out that Independent Dukhobors
were Dukhobors, entitled to exemption from military conscription.

While the replies to Makaroff’s letters were encouraging, rumors
persisted in the Blaine Lake district, once the North Saskatchewan
River Colony, that military police would take the young men away
to the army that fall. About the middle of August, when the wheat
crop was almost ready for the binders, an overzealous Royal North

270

SLAVA BOHU

West Mounted Policeman, Sergeant John Wilson, arrested some
Independent Dukhobors in Blaine Lake. Word of the arrests
spread through the district. Early in the morning of August 17,
Independent Dukhobors converged at Nikito PopoflF’s farm to
hold a meeting and decide wlut to do. By noon, 1,000 men,
women and children, had arrived in buggies, democrats, wagons
and six automobiles. A jug of water, a bowl of salt and a loaf of
bread stood on the white-dothed ceremonial table. Women assem-
bled on the left, men on the right, and a psalm telling of the
iniquity of war replaced the soft rustle of the breeze in a near-by
field of oats.

After the opening ceremony there were shouts of, “Turn the
horses and cattle into the crops if they will take our men !” “Bum
the binders ! Bum the automobiles and the machinery. Burn every-
thing that is part of dvilization and war.”

Everyone had brought food to the meeting, but many were too
exdted to eat. There was salmon on large plates, and nine-year-old
John Popoff, Nildto’s son, tasted fish for the first time in his life.
He liked it, then felt God would never forgive him; but when
Grandfather Mathew wasn’t watching, he ate more.

Nikito Popoff had gone in his MacLaughlin Buick fifty miles
south to Saslatoon to bring Peter Makaroff to the meeting.

Nikito was almost breathless when he mshed into Makaroff’s
office. “Peter! The police are arresting our young men, taking
them for the army.”

“They can’t do that,” said Makaroff, “I have letters from the
authorities saying that we Independent Dukhobors are exempt
from the army.”

“But they are taking them I It is terrible ! At the meeting on my
farm, hundreds are talking about burning everything!”

Makaroff, with his leather brief case of letters, drove toward
Blaine Lake as fast as Nikito dared put the Buick over the dirt
road.

In the meantime, at the meeting on the Popoff farm, police
came in an automobile. There was confusion for a few minutes.
Women wailed, old men shouted warnings, children whimpered
and clung to their parents. Peter Esakin, of military age, shut
himself up in the Popoff clothes closet. Four young men ran to
the oat field, crawling into the center of it on their hands and
knees. Afterwards they were referred to as siatsi, “rabbits.”
Policemen took Nik M^aroff, Alex Verashagin and several oth-
ers considered leaders among the Independents.

WAR MADNESS

271

The “rabbits” came out of the oat field; Esakin emerged from
the clothes closet looking very sheepish. The meeting continued
to discuss burning the machinery, turning the livestock into the
standing grain, going en masse to the prison in Blaine Lake. It
was decided that they should wait for Nikito and Peter Makaroff.
In the meantime, no one would harvest an)rthing until “our young
men are returned to us.”

Nikito’s car had barely stopped in front of the frame lockup in
Blaine Lake town, when Sergeant Wilson asked, “Why aren’t you
in the army, Makaroff ?”

“I’m exempt.”

“You are like hell exempt,” replied Wilson. “Where’s your
certificate?”

“This is it,” said Makaroff handing the sergeant a Society of
Independent Dukhobors’ certificate.

“That’s no damn good. I arrest you in the name of the King.”

“I submit to arrest, but you’ll find out you’re wrong.”

Sergeant Wilson grabbed Makaroff’s brief case.

“I can’t give that up,” said Makaroff. “The documents proving
exemption for all of us are in there.”

“You can give it up.” Wilson snatched the case. “Qjme on with
me. I’ll show you where you can cool off.”

It was a frame lockup with one iron-barred cell and guardroom
about the size of a granary. Makaroff was the only one in the cell,
the rest of the arrested Dukhobors being in the guardroom. He
could hear them talking in Russian; not to fight, treat even the
guards politely.

In the cell was a small outside window. Someone was there.

“Peter, it is I, Ivan.”

“Bring me a sheet of paper, to write on,” Makaroff said.

Then he wrote a message to the Honorable Arthur Meighen,
minister of the interior, telling of the arrests in face of the gov-
ernment’s promise of exemption.

Ivan took the note and gave it to Nikito Popoff who telegraphed
the message to Ottawa.

Makaroff had supper in his cell, and afterwards the “trial” of
some thirty Dukhobors began in the guardroom.

Sergeant Wilson prosecuted while a justice of the peace, with-
out hearing any evidence, sentenced the men to an imprisonment
of a few weeks, or to fines. Several offered to pay the fines, but the
rest refused. "VlHien it came Makaroff’s turn he insisted on a “real
trial,” and demanded the return of his brief case. But the justice

272

SLAVA BOHU

of the peace sentenced him to two months’ imprisonment, because
he was a single man. “When you come out of prison, you will be
turned over to the military authorities for further disposition,”
added Wilson.

The other Dukhobors, being married men with the exception of
Mike Zarchekoff, were told that they might return to their farms
and they would be allowed time in which to pay their fines. “We
will stay until you let our brother Peter Makaroff out of prison,”
said Verashagin.

Independent Dukhobor messengers had gone to Yorkton,
Kamsack and Langham districts to arouse the Independents there.
They came in automobiles, several hundred of them, and with the
men and women from Blaine Lake district the little town was full
of Dukhobors singing psalms and reciting prayers, threatening to
turn their livestock into the crops, and “follow the prisoners
wherever their guards will take them.”

Blaine Lake merchants, whose thriving wartime business was
mainly with Independent Dukhobors, prevailed on Sergeant Wil-
son to let Makaroff and Zarchekoff go free. “Get all these people
back to their farms and let them put their binders into the crop
before any damage is done,” urged a nervous implement dealer.

So the caravan of automobiles, trucks and horse-drawn vehicles
moved out of Blaine Lake to Nikito Popoff’s farm. There at an-
other meeting, Makaroff advised everyone to return to their own
farms and begin harvesting. He would go to Ottawa with several
other delegates, including Vasili Verashagin and Peter Shukin.

In Ottawa, it seemed that the arrests at Blaine Lake had been
a mistake of the local authorities. The delegation was assured by
the department of militia that the exemption cards of the Society
of Independent Dukhobors would be recognized by the military
police, and this was confirmed in a telegram to the commanding
officer, Military District No. 12, Regina.

Peter Verigin had failed in his efforts to have the Independents
conscripted, and as a result there were a number of families in
British Qjlumbia and Saskatchewan who deserted the Christian
Community of Universal Brotherhood Limited, now feeling it a
safe thing to do.

As a gesture of good will, Verigin contributed a shipment of
“K. C. Brand” jam as a gift to the troops in France. He took the
opportunity to point out that the Christians could not fight in a
war, but Christ said that no man should go hungry.

The Russian Revolution in 1917 had aroused the interest of the

WAR MADNESS

273

Dukhobors. Independents had favored Kerenski’s short-lived gov-
ernment, but several of the very young men admired Lenin and
Trotsky ; while Community people viewed one government as bad
as another.

Vladimir Bonch-Bruivich, the Russian revolutionary, who had
left Caucasia with the Dul^obor migration, and who later had
published Verigin's Letters, was now friend and confidant of
Lenin in Moscow.

Not many more than twelve Dukhobors had enlisted voluntarily
with the C. E. F. in France, and most of them had changed their
names so as not to disgrace their parents.

Boris Sachatoff, less and less fascinated by the Sons of Free-
dom, turned to Marx and Lenin for inspiration. Count Kapneist
had left for St. Petersburg when Imperial Russia entered the war.
Sad-eyed Maria Alexandrovna Afanaseva who had “come to
Canada to die,” started back to Russia, but was drowned when the
Empress of Ireland, sank in the St. Lawrence River.

On February 4, 1920, Chief Justice Sir Frederick Haultain, in
King’s Bench Court, Saskatoon, sentenced Sergeant Wilson, of
the Royal North West Mounted Police, to hang by the neck until
dead. The jury had found him guilty of murder. On or about
September 28, 1919, he had blown his wife’s head off with a shot-
gun, and secreted her body beneath a culvert on a road. Then, on
the day after the murder, he had married Jessie Patterson, of
Blaine Lake, in Knox Church, Saskatoon, the Reverend C. Wylie
Clarke officiating. Wilson was hanged at Prince Albert, April 23,
1920.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SLY POLICIES

THE YEARLY MEETING of the Religious Society of
Friends for Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Delaware and parts of
Maryland was shodced, in 1922, by startling news of Peter Veri-
gin’s plan for getting rid of children and old people among the
Dukhobors. “This is so shocking that some of us cannot believe it
... if half what is printed (in the newspapers) is true,” a Quaker
wrote Makaroff.

Peter Makaroff replied that he thought it unlikely Peter Verigin
intended to drown the children and aged, but that it was probable
he was attempting to embarrass the government with publicity in
the newspapers, because he did not wish to pay school taxes.

No children nor old folk were drowned, but a government
schoolhouse burned, mysteriously, in November of 1923. This was
the first of a series of schoolhouse burnings in Dukhobor districts
of British Columbia and Saskatchewan. In the spring of 1924, fire
“of unknown origin” consumed three government schools and
Peter Verigin’s house at Brilliant.

Verigin complained to Premier John Oliver of British Colum-
bia, that the police were unable to catch the criminals who set fire
to the schools, and that the Dukhobors had no schools to attend,
as he, Verigin, wished them to do.

The Qujikers, never completely tiring of regenerating the Duk-
hobors, responded to an invitation to aid a Dtihobor youth move-
ment whidi had been inaugurated a year or two earlier near
Buchanan, Saskatchewan. In July 1924, two men came from the
United States, one was the president of Kansas University, and
the other, a Quaker from Philadelphia. “Both these men were
Christians of outstanding caliber. It was Christ they preached, no
matter what specific problem they discussed,” said the Rev. G. G.
Heffelfinger, minister of the United Church at Buchanan, who
took part in the movement.

While the youth movement lasted, Mike Ostoforoff sang in the
church choir and was Heffelfinger’s “right-hand man in the boys’
work.” Then Mike went to Chicago and took an osteopathic
course.

274

SLY POLICIES

275

In the province of Alberta, Verigin had purchased a few thou-
sand acres of wheat land near Cowley and Lundbreck. Here on the
rolling prairie lived Anastasia Holubeova and some five himdred
members of the Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood
Limited.

There were rumors that the faithful might migrate to Mexico,
but nothing came of them. A few hundred Independents had
moved on their own to Oregon and Southern California.

In August, 1924, John Sherbinin, expert lumberman, left the
Community and became an Independent. There were others who
left and bought fruit land of their own. It seemed as if disinte-
gration was again besetting Verigin’s little nation within a nation.

The Sons of Freedom increased in numbers in British Colum-
bia, most of them believing in Verigin as their divine leader, a few
emphatic that the Spirit of Christ had left him. In Grand Forks
was a bearded son who proclaimed himself “Paul, Tsar of Earth,”
wore a crown of oranges on his head and said that he had visited
heaven.

While Peter Vasilivich Verigin could welcome no “tsar” who
might threaten his own dominion over the faithful, he was not
unwilling to use fanatics as scapegoats for his opposition to taxes,
and schools.

So plastic was the creed of the Sons of Freedom and its varied
hallucinations and factions, and so foreign was the mental-emo-
tional process of the sectarian muzhik to the Anglo-Saxon mind,
that Peter was pleased to let events take their course, no matter
how fantastic, supreme in his confidence that he would be able to
turn whatever transpired, including the burning of buildings, to
his own advantage.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

RAILWAY EXPLOSION

ON THE NIGHT OF OCTOBER 28, 1924, at BriUiant sta-
tion, a little group of the faithful saw Peter Vasilivich Verigin
board the Canadian Pacific’s Kootenay Express, westbound
through the mountains. With him was Mary Streliova, one of his
maids. They found a seat about the middle of the day coach. A
Dukhobor man who had carried Petushka’s suitcase into the train
and put it carefully under his seat, bowed and left. Another Duk-
hobor, traveling to one of the settlements farther west, sat at a
respectful distance from the leader.

“That is Peter Verigin, the Dukhobor leader,” John A. Mackie,
member of the legislative assembly of British Columbia, remarked
to a fellow traveler.

It was Harry Bishop, hockey player and commercial traveler
for Swift Canadian Company, who remarked later that he had
often seen Verigin on this train. The Dukhobor chief always re-
mained aloof, Imew little English and spoke less. But his enig-
matic presence invariably caused curious glances in his direction.
Even the imperturbable eyes of several Hindus on the coach and
the bland face of a Chinaman showed interest in this peasant lord.

From the engine came two short blasts; the train moved
through the night-shrouded fruit orchards; lights twinkled from
a settlement across the Columbia River, while on the north side of
the right of way, dark forested hills towered abruptly.

When Conductor Turner came through to collect tickets, Peter
Verigin, saying not a word, handed him two for Castlegar, the
next station, only two miles west. A few minutes later the train-
man called, “Castlegar, Castlegar next,” nodding to Verigin. But
when the Kootenay Express steamed out of Castlegar, Peter Veri-
gin and his maid still occupied their seat, and from the Conductor,
Verigin purchased two cash fares to Grand Forks a hundred miles
away. Nothing unusual happened during the next two hours. At
Tunnell, twenty-five miles farther west, three Dukhobor men of
the Zibaroff, Kazakoflf and Rebin families got on the train and
settled themselves in a double seat about six windows behind
Peter and Mary. The train wound on through the darkness; it

276

RAILWAY EXPLOSION 277

climbed steadily. At Farron summit, an altitude o£ 3,976 feet, the
pusher engine was uncoupled, and a cafe car added.

The train left Farron about one o’clock in the morning and,
with cast-iron brakeshoes grinding against steel tires, went cau-
tiously down the mountain at twenty miles an hour. Conductor
Turner and the trainman walked through the train, but there were
no new passengers. The twenty in the day coach were settled down
for the night in various positions of rest and exhaustion. Peter
Verigin, head bent forward, seemed to be dozing; beside him
Mary Streliova slept, her shawled head on a pillow by the window
ledge.

Leaving the day coach, conductor and trainman walked over
the shifting, clanging iron plates of the vestibule and into the
baggage car. The door slammed shut behind them. They reached
the far end of the car, where the conductor said to the baggage-
man, “We’re a little ahead of — ”

An explosive roar cut short the sentence which was never fin-
ished.

The baggage-car door, through which they had entered a mo-
ment before, was hurled off its hinges halfway into the car. Simul-
taneously, the train stopped with such suddenness that the three
men were thrown against the opposite door. Astounded, they
walked through the doorless end of the car, to find the vestibule
of the day coach blocked with splintered wood. The baggageman
ran back into his car, opened a side door and jumped to the
ground. The conductor and trainman, glass crunching beneath
their feet, pushed their way into the day coach. The air reeked
with acrid smoke. The gas lights were out, but from a tongue of
blue flame licking up from the floor, about the center of the
coach, they saw that almost the entire north side had disappeared.
The roof was gone too, cold white stars glinting through a haze
of smoke where a few moments before the creamy gas lights had
shone. An unnatural, deathlike silence hung over the weird de-
struction. Jammed into one seat, still intact, they found two men
and a woman unconscious. These passengers they lifted one by
one through a glassless window, &e baggageman outside help-
ing them to the ground. The flame in the center of the coach was
spreading. With difficulty they hunted for other passengers, but
throughout the main section of the coach they searched in vain.
Even the seats in the center had vanished with the side of the
car and the roof. At the extreme end, they discovered three men,
semiconscious, and dragged them to safety.

278

SLAVA BOHU

Both Engineer Harkness and Fireman Munro had heard the
detonation, which had evidently broken the air line thus stopping
the train within a space of two car lengths. They looked at one
another in a brief moment of amazement. The fireman made sure
there was plenty of water in the boiler; the engineer put the loco-
motive in stationary reverse. Both dimbed down from the cab
and ran back toward a growing flame, which seemed to be about
the middle of the train. They heard Conductor Turner shout :

“There might be someone alive in there!” With that he en-
tered the coach for the second time, stumbled the length of the
aisle, still found no one and managed to get out at the other end.

“Where are the rest of them? We only got six out and there
were twenty aboard,” he gasped.

Passengers came out of the sleeping car next to the wrecked
coach, fearfully astonished faces accentuated in the light of the
shifting flames. The trainman and the express messenger used a
chemicd fire extinguisher on the near end of the sleeper. Out
in the semidarkness of the right of way the fireman shouted for
help. He had foimd two persons — dead or alive. The conductor
disappeared into the gloom. The engineer ran back to his engine;
brakes must be temporarily released to pull the burning coach
away from the sleeper and isolate it from the baggage car. The
undercarriage and wheels of the day coach were not damaged,
but the explosion had broken the gaspipe line beneath the floor
and set fire to escaping gas, which fired the woodwork.

In the boulder-strewn ditch of the north side and amidst stunted
spruce trees now lighted up by the crackling flames of the wooden
coach, train crew and passengers from the sleeping car found the
rest of the ill-fated passengers. Peter Verigin, blown a hundred
feet from the track, a gaping wound in his side, one leg almost
severed, was dead. So was Madcie, the member of the legislature,
who had been sitting in an adjacent seat Mary Streliova, clothes
half torn from her body, was dying. Hakkim Singh, a Hindu, was
battered beyond recovery. At least ten others were seriously
wounded. On the south side of the right of way, two hundred
feet from the track, was the car roof, which had been hurled in
the opposite direction.

“Look! Fire’s broken out on the sleq)ing-car roof!” someone
shouted.

The trainman climbed up with a fire extinguisher. On top of
the roof he found a man’s trouser leg in flames. The remnant

RAILWAY EXPLOSION 279

of doth had evidently been blown there by the force of the ex-
plosion, and after smoldering for a while, burst into flames.

When the wounded had been carried inside the sleeping-car and
the dead into the baggage car. Conductor Turner, lantern in hand,
ran and walked over the ties the two miles back to Farron. There
he ordered the pusher engine to the wreck, and tdegraphed to
Nelson. The train was divided. The pusher engine hooked on to
the sleeper of wounded and hurried over the sixty miles of wind-
ing railway to Nelson. The stark undercarriage of the ill-fated
day coach, all that remained of it, was left on Farron siding. The
rest of the Kootenay Express, mail, baggage, and cafe cars, went
on to Grand Forks with the uninjured passengers and the dead.
The wounded reached Nelson and the hospital at 5.45 a.m., three
victims, including Mary Streliova, having died en route. Bishop,
the popular hodkey player, who had been sitting across from
Verigin, died in Nelson Hospital
A special train left Nelson early that morning, with doctors
and nurses aboard, met the woimded at Castlegar, and went on
with railway officials and police to the scene of the wreck. They
found debris scattered parallel to the tracks over two hundred feet
and picked up shreds of clothing more than three hundred feet
away. The finding of a dry battery with part of an alarm clock
was reported to D. C. Coleman, vice-president of Western lines
at Winnipeg. D, W. “D 3 mamite” McNabb, inspector of the gov-
ernment bureau of explosives, Vancouver, was among the many
who investigated the disaster, which resulted in the death of nine
persons. The full force of the explosion seemed to have been
close by or under the seat in which Peter Verigin had been sitting.
Theories were evolved that “fanatics” had ddiberately taken the
life of Peter Verigin, had put dynamite, time clock and electric
battery in a suitcase under his seat. “Bolshevik agents,” sug-
gested someone. A Bolshevik agent killed Verigin because he had
opposed Communism among his people? There was the “woman”
theory. A woman jealous of his attentions to others had revenge-
fully plotted to blot out his life. Or a young Dukhobor was des-
perately in love with one of Verigin’s “maids”? Suicide? Dis-
illusioned, he had taken his own life in a spectacular fashion
which would make suicide appear highly improbable. Accidental?
Someone had been carrying dynamite in the coach, and it acci-
dentally exploded. Railway officials had had trouble before with
fanners and miners carrying dynamite in passenger coaches.

280

SLAVA BOHU

“Stump ranchers” used dynamite to blast tree stumps from new
land ; prospectors employed it to shatter rock. Under the Canadian
Railways Act, high explosives must be transported in a specially
marked freight car. This reasonable protection made freight
charges on small quantities prohibitive. Thus, to save expense,
individuals had been known to pack dynamite into suitcases and
carry it like legitimate baggage, sometimes placing it by a seat
other than the one in which they sat, in order, if discovered, to
deny ownership. But even sensitive dynamite does not explode
of its own accord.

At the inquest in Grand Forks, the coroner’s jury reached the
conclusion that the victims “came to their death through power-
ful explosive placed in the coach through ignorance or deliber-
ately.”

British Columbia Provincial Police posted reward notices in
English, Russian, Ukrainian, and Polish, offering $2,000 to anyone
giving information that would lead to arrest and conviction.

The Canadi a n Pacific Railway Company issued passes to enable
relatives of the dead to care for the bodies. After Verigin’s body
was released by the coroner, seven himdred Dukhobors chartered
a special train to Brilliant, where the faithful in thousands gath-
ered to mourn over the remains of their dead leader; like a col-
lective crying of lost souls, women wailed their eerie lamentations,
men sobbed, children whimpered. Amidst the mourning there was
gossip that the “government killed Petushka . . . the government
put dynamite under his seat; and killed the Member of Parlia-
ment too, to make us believe that thqr did not do it.”

There was whispering about “who will be our new leader,” and
consternation concerning the burial place of Peter Vasilivich.
“Where will we bury him when there is no Holy Cemetery?”
Eventually, it was decided to dig a grave in the rock at the base
of the steep hillside overlooking Brilliant village and the river.

Saskatchewan Dukhobors arrived for the funeral. Sunday,
November 2, the faithful in thousands assembled in ceremonial
fashion on the steep hillside. Melancholy psalms rose and fell,
filling the valley and floating over the dark-blue waters of the
Columbia.

For six weeks mourning was mingled with uneasiness through-
out all the colonies of the Christian Community of Universal
Brotherhood Limited. Peter Vasilivich had at no time indicated
whom he might wish to follow him as ruler. There was a growing
feeling that the Spirit of Christ would enter into the body of his

RAILWAY EXPLOSION

281

only son, Peter Petrovich Verigin, in Russia. But those opposed
to the younger Peter assuming the mantle of Qirist, said that no
one knew where he was in Russia. And others, who admitted that
he might be found in a village near Rostov-on-Don where he had
moved with his followers from Caucasia, shook their heads and
declared he would not be acceptable because it was true that he
had become a Bolshevik, denying God.

“But,” said Plotnikoff, “if he is a Bolshevik, I am sure he is
only a Bolshevik to fool the Soviet government.”

This talk of finding Peter Petrovich Verigin, and bringing him
to Canada, was disquieting to John Shukin and Michael Cazakoff.
These two mild-eyed and canny businessmen felt their lives might
be made miserable should he appear on the scene. To avoid such
a calamity, either would have gladly assumed the rulership, but
both knew they had neither the force nor color to capture the
imagination of the people. Thus Shukin and Cazakoff planned
to place Anastasia Holubeova, old Peter’s favorite consort, in the
hereditary office. Had not a woman, Lukeria Vasilivna, been a
good leader before Peter Vasilivich? With stout and passive
Anastasia as nominal head, Shukin would continue to manage
Community affairs in British Columbia, while Cazakoff would
retain his position in Saskatchewan.

Anastasia was easily convinced that her years of intimacy with
Peter Vasilivich fitted her to receive the Holy Spirit. Gregori
Verigin, Peter’s brother, favored her ascension to the throne.
The Alberta colony in which Anastasia, Gregori Verigin and sev-
eral other Verigins resided, was won over to her support.

Some Sons of Freedom wanted Peter Petrovich as the new
Christ. Others, as usual, knew not what they wanted; while Paul,
self-styled “Tsar of Earth,” wore his crown of oranges and agi-
tated one day that his friend “Tsar of Heaven” should be leader,
and next day that “we must all be free and live as brothers and sis-
ters having no leader other than God in Heaven.”

On December 10, at the traditional six-weeks-after-death cere-
mony by Peter’s grave when his soul was supposed to enter
Heaven, 4,000 of ffie faithful assembled on the hillside. Beneath
the singing of psalms and touching of foreheads to the ground,
there was an undercurrent of apprehension not unlike that which
had prevailed thirty-eight years before by the graveside of Lu-
keria in the Wet Mountains of Caucasia.

There had been no answer to the cablegrams sent to Peter Petro-
vich Verigin at Rostov-on-Don, Union of Socialist Soviet Re-

282

SLAVA BOHU

publics. Anastasia’s supporters in the Alberta colony let it be
known that they would withdraw from the Christian Community
of Universal Brotherhood if she was not elected to the rulership.
An irate woman supporter of Peter Petrovich trampled Paul’s
crovm of oranges in the snow.

Amidst sobs and bickering a several-thousand-dollar mausole-
um was erected over Petuslito’s grave. The final meeting to de-
cide who should be the new ruler was held in the Community
Hall of Brilliant village, and it soon became evident that the
majority wanted Peter Petrovich Verigin. Only the Alberta colony
delegates and a few others favored Anastasia, and when Shukin
and Cazakoff saw their defeat, they withdrew their support from
Anastasia.

The faithful were perturbed. Possibly the Soviet government
was not delivering their messages ? Possibly poor Peter Petrovich
was in prison, suffering for his Christian beliefs? They would
send two delegates to find him. Nikolai Plotnikoff and Vasili
Verashagin set out for Russia.

Through the winter, belief increased amongst the faithful that
Peter Vasilivich Verigin had been deliberately destroyed by the
Canadian government “who killed him as the Roman government
killed Christ 2,000 years ago.”

John Shukin began writing ambiguous letters to the newspa-
pers, signing himself “formerly private secretary to the late Peter
Verigin,’’ and referring to “truth for which the leader of the
Dukhobors, Peter Verigin, has sacrificed his life for the sake of
the teaching of Jesus Christ.’’

Amidst Ae confusion, the faithful seemed united only in oppo-
sition to the cruel government that had killed Peter Verigin.
They withdrew the few children who had been attending gov-
ernment schools, decided to pay no fines for infraction of the
Schools Act, or failure to comply with the Vital Statistics Act,
and threatened to discontinue paying taxes. In February, John
Eloxkoff and Peter Postuken were arrested near Grand Forks
for failure to have their children attend school. They chose four-
teen da 3 rs’ imprisonment rather than pay the fine. A week after
they had been sentenced in Grand Forks, on the night of Febru-
ary 27, the unoccupied schoolhouse, five miles from the town, was
burned to the ground.

When on March 1, Premier Oliver of British Columbia came
to^ Grand Forks to visit his son-in-law, the Rev. F. E. Runnalls,
minister of the United Church, eight hundred Dukhobors as-

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283

sembled outside the manse, singing hymns for Oliver’s edifica-
tion. From the front porch the premier addressed them, at their
request, through an interpreter. He reminded them that certain
laws had been enacted for the benefit of all in Canada, and that
though people coming from other countries were given the same
privileges as Canadians, they also must obey the same laws. “I
would have you thoroughly understand that these laws will be
enforced,” he said.

“But the government’s laws killed Peter Verigin,” came a
voice from the center of the assemblage. “We believe in God’s
laws.”

“You lie !” shouted the premier. “It was not our laws that killed
Mr. Verigin. He was killed in spite of our laws, against our
laws.”

Next day the premier went on to Nelson, the constituency that
had elected him as a Liberal member of the legislature. There
John Shukin, with a small delegation, approached him.

“We are very sorry, Mr. Premier Oliver, if Dukhobors in
Grand Forks insulted you,” said Shukin.

“I was not insulted. They spoke civilly, but expressed very
peculiar views,” said Oliver.

Shukin, still with a pained look on his face, asked that the
Premier Oliver speak to tibe Dukhobors in Brilliant village.

This invitation the premier emphatically declined.

“I have given eight years to the Dukhobor question,” he said.
“I have given the Dukhobors considerable latitude, thinking that
they would eventually come around and live up to the laws like
the rest of the people of British Columbia. But instead of im-
proving, the situation has become worse. You have burned eight
schools, and today no children are going to school at all. I am
going to see that you live up to the law.”

Shukin, looking at his feet, bowed and thanked the premier.
The others of the delegation bowed, said nothing, and followed
Shukin out of the ofiice of the Nelson Board of Trade.

Shukin returned to Brilliant, where he had left a large meet-
ing called to decide the economic policy of the British Columbia
colonies for the leaderless year to come. After much discussion,
the meeting agreed to do everything possible to reduce the mort-
gages incurred by Peter Vasilivich in establishing the colonies.
Once more, the most able-bodied men would work for wages,
bringing their earnings back to the Community fund. Older men,
boys and women would work at home in the orchards and mills.

284

SLAVA BOHU

If the crop were good, slava Bohtt, thirty boxcars of jam could
be shipped from the factory at Brilliant.

It was Shukin’s hope that the British Columbia government
would forget about sdiools and education. He wished faithfully
to continue Peter Verigin’s opposition to schools. But Premier
Oliver was determined that the Dukhobor children should attend
school in accord with the laws of the province. He was not going
to burden the taxpayers by putting the offending parents in jail.
Instead he would have them fined in the courts.

April 9, thirty-five Dukhobors were convicted for failure to
send their children to school. When these parents refused to pay
the fines, distress warrants were issued at Grand Forks authoriz-
ing seizure of sufficient property to make up fines totalling $4,000.
Police Inspector W. R. Dunwoody, mounted on a horse, with
ten regular constables and one hundred men from the road gangs,
set about the seizures.

First they went to the Dukhobor warehouse at Grand Forks,
where they seized office equipment, cement, sacks of peas and
beans. From a spur track they seized five flatcars of railway ties.
In silence Popoff and KuAin, the local business managers,
watched the proceedings. In motor trucks Dunwoody’s men drove
out to the villages. Word of their coming had preceded them, and
they found sadcs of wheat hidden under buildings and haystacks.
All they could find they brought back to Grand Forks.

Women spat at them, cursing them in Russian for their im-
christian stealing “all because we are living in the Spirit of
Christ.” Men eyed them with ominous quiet, but offered no re-
sistance.

Dukhobors telegraphed to Cazakoff in Saskatchewan, and he,
in Yorkton, telegraphed to the authorities in Grand Forks, plead-
ing that the pubUc auction be postponed until his arrival in Brit-
ish Columbia.

Dukhobors in British Columbia telegraphed Premier Oliver,
asking that he withdraw the police. The premier replied that if
they really wanted the raids to cease, all they had to do was pay
their fines and in future send their children to school. Oliver re-
ceived a letter threatening to blow him up and burn his house.
Signed “Dukhobors,” it was postmarked Victoria and may have
originated from a practical joker taking advantage of the situ-
ation.

When Cazakoff arrived in Grand Forks, he did not know
what to do. The authorities were determined to sell the chattels

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285

by auction and collect the fines. The Dukhobors were determined
not to pay voluntarily, and when CazakofE suggested they should,
they accused him of betraying the memory of Peter Vasilivich.
He sweated, took his comb from his suitcoat pocket and flattened
his hair down over his forehead.

Businessman that he was, he suggested that they themselves
bid at the auction, but they refused to “buy back our owm prop-
erty and in that way let the government collect the fines.”

His mouth turned down at the comers, as he watched the
auctioneer at work.

“It means ruination.” He clutched the edge of his suitcoat and
rolled it up to his armpit.

The Dukhobors claimed that $20,000 worth of their property
was auctioned. But the sale brought in only $3,500. As the total
amount sought by the government was $4,600, it seized cedar
poles and railway ties sufficient to make up the total amount of
fines and costs.

Then Shukin received a cablegram from Peter Petrovich Veri-
gin in Russia. He was coming to Canada, possibly within three
weeks. The faithful heard the news with joy. Shukin and Caza-
koff , willing to say almost anj^thing to put an end to these auction
sales, persuaded the faithful to send their children to school until
the novi Petushka would come and advise everybody what to do.
Slava Bohu.

Thus did the children begin to dribble back to the frame school-
houses, and the authorities unwittingly thought they had found a
way to manage the parents.

CHAPTER THIRTY

LEWD PARABLES

MONTHS OF WAITING followed, and still Peter Petrovich
Verigin did not come. Plotnikoff and Verashagin, the delegatsi,
returned from Russia without him, bringing with them his mother
Dunia Verigina, whom old Peter had divorced in Caucasia thirty-
nine years ago.

Wizened, numbly resigned, she had little to say at meetings
where the most credulous received her as “Mother of Christ”
and called her Babushka.

The delegates assured everyone that Peter Petrovich would
come soon.

“Petushka wishes to be with us now,” Plotnikoff told the
Brilliant meeting. “He loves you, loves us all. But now he is -very
busy helping the brothers and sisters who moved from Caucasia
to good land by the River Don. He would be very sorry to leave
there until he has done everything.”

“Da,” Verashagin echoed in his address, “so Petushka sent us
his dear mother to be with us in the Spirit of Christ until he
comes. Slava Bohu.”

During winter evenings, to chosen listeners, Plotnikoff had
strange tales to relate. Petushka had helped overthrow the Tsar’s
government, Petushka had helped Josef Stalin rob the express
train so there would be gold for the revolution, gold for the peas-
ants. But Petushka was not a Bolshevik. He had not murdered
one man. Everything he did was in the Spirit of Christ.

Plotnikoff’s face would become worried momentarily, and he
would squeeze his coat with uneasy hands when, on a few occa-
sions, he admitted that Peter drank vodka and smoked cigarettes
sometimes. Then, the harassed look leaving him as if he had
thrown it off like a bad dream, he would add that Petushka had a
reason for eveiything he did. “God tells him what to do, but even
he does not always know why he should do this or that, because
not even to Petushka does God tell everything.”

“Da, da, sometimes Petushka smokes tobacco and drinks whisky
to fool the Soviet government that he too is a Bolshevik. Then
he can stay longer in Russia to help the brothers and sisters there.”

286

LEWD PARABLES

287

The Soviet government had shown favor to the Dukhobors in
Caucasia. Traditionally good agriculturalists, traditionally opposed
to tsardom, they were of the peasantry who for hundreds of years
had been ground down by Imperial state and church. In accord
with the Soviet government’s agricultural policy of 1920, they
were allotted land about sixty miles from the city of Rostov and
asked to elect a leader for the commune. They chose Peter Petro-
vich; the Soviet confirmed the election. Thus did Peter become a
combination of Dukhobor God and Bolshevik commissar in Rus-
sia, several years before PlotnikofE and Verashagin were sent by
the faithful in Canada.

“I will soon go to Canada to educate all the Dukhobors there,”
Peter told Semon Semonolf in Rostov.

Semonoff, an Independent Dukhobor from Arlee, Saskatche-
wan, was touring European Russia as a guest of the U. S. S. R.,
in 1925. With Ernie Bolton, organizer for the Farmers’ Union of
Canada, Semonoff, all expenses paid, was delegate to the Inter-
national Farmers’ Council. A zealous Soviet had invited workers
and farmers from capitalist countries to see the show places of the
world’s first socialist republic. Semonoff had cannily taken this
opportunity to revisit the land of his birth.

“Pravda,” Verigin agreed, “I do not like this government very
well. As you say, Semon, the Canadian government is much
better.”

Semonoff left Moscow without Peter. He returned to Sas-
katchewan where he earned the displeasure of both the Soviet and
the Communist party of Canada, by telling of the famine; how
poor were the peasants outside of the special kolhosi; how some of
the agrarian komisare were like old-time tax collectors, only they
wore breeches with leather backsides in them ; and how he, Semon,
was robbed of his money at night on a train in the Ukraine when
some bandeit cut through his pocket while he slept.

Peter continued to correspond with the Dukhobors in Canada,
telling them how he needed money; not for himself but for the
brothers and sisters near Rostov. Not only the Community and
Sons of Freedom Dukhobors responded to these appeals, but In-
dependents also sent several thousand dollars.

Among the Independents to whom Peter wrote was his cousin
Andrew Katelnikoff, of Yorkton. Andrew had emigrated to
Canada on his own when he was nineteen. With capable hands
and business shrewdness, he worked his way from carpenter’s
laborer to building contractor in Yorkton. He knew his cousin

288

SLAVA BOHU

Peter Petrovich Verigin. With C 3 mical humor he visualized the
huge and tragic shutka which would follow Peter’s arrival on the
already disturbed scene.

Many Independents now wished to believe that young Peter’s
coming might, in some inexplicable way, work the miracle of
banding all the Dukhobors together in one great happy family,

Andrew, who “would as soon build a brick house on a muskeg
as have faith in such an idea,” was, nevertheless, willing to act
as unofficial agent between Peter and the Independents, thus hav-
ing a hand in a monstrous practical joke which was to provide
him with ironical chuckles for the rest of his life.

“Yes, yes, Cousin soon is coming to Canada to help everyone.
He says so in his letter. But first he needs some more money,”
said Andrew, handing the letter to his wife.

“How do you always know that you are so smart?” said Polia.
“Possibly Peter has changed since you wasted your time with
him in Caucasia when you were his hunting dog and every time
he missed a bird he used to shower you with buckshot.”

“Da, da, possibly next winter we will grow cucumbers in the
snow, possibly we will feed sawdust to the cow and have more
milk.” Andrew shrugged his shoulders and put more lemon in
his tea.

“Postoi ! Stop ! If you know so much why do you not go out
and tell the others?” Polia asked without looking up from the
letter.

“They would believe me as much as if I went out in the gar-
den and told the potato bugs not to eat Paris green,” Andrew
replied.

Peter Petrovich Verigin’s letter was written from Rostov,
March 22, 1926.

Dear brother Andrew,

For your letters I am very thankful, and especially for the last
one in which you let me know that our dear mother arrived safely. , . .

I send you many thanks and greetings . . . We are all thankful to
Providence for our health, and we are thankful to the Heavenly
Father. Slava Bohu.

Everywhere and at all times I have had to depend on my own
strength and resources . . . resources very limited . . . while my ex-
penses were very great and becoming more so. ... I think that you,
Andrew, should know that the present circumstances do not admit

LEWD PARABLES 289

of too much discussion . , . your help will bring great relief to us in
our cause, which is not personal. . . .

After receiving^ this letter, please go to see Prokofia Feodorivich
Verigin and tell him as follows : Go to all the farmers [Independents]
whom you know as you know yourselves and make my request to
everyone separately, those who will answer my call for financial
aid . . . give them a receipt ... as soon as you collect one thousand
dollars, don’t vrait one day, but send them immediately, by telegraph.

. . . If you ask how much money is needed ... my answer is “as
much as you can send” as I must have from you not less than five
thousand dollars. If you can send more, send it. These dollars are
necessary for me and will allow me to depart quickly. ... I rqieat,
the sum should not alarm you, nor should return of the money
worry you . . . and so dear Andrew . . . God will allow us to meet . . .

At the same time I am writing to friends in foreign lands request-
ing that they also should not neglect this opportunity to forward
money to me, and not less than five thousand dollars . . .

The crop was good but hail and dampness damaged much of the
wheat. All the time there was much rain. The need is felt by many.
I kiss you all.

Your well-wisher and brother,

r. VERIGIN.

Independents responded to this call for funds. Sons of Free-
dom contributed from their small wealth. Summer came and
went. Fall gave way to winter. Still Peter did not come. In De-
cember, the Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood bor-
rowed $350,000 from the National Trust Company. The loan,
negotiated by Shukin, Ca 2 akoff and lesser managers, was to re-
plenish a depleted treasury and pay pressing debts. How much
of that money was sent to Peter Verigin was not revealed.

Riotous living now occupied much of Peter’s time in Rostov,
according to Soviet authorities who first took away his office in
the commune, then sentenced him to a prison term. He was
guilty, the workers’ court found, of being under the influence of
strong drink and chasing two Dukhobors in the commime. He
knocked some teeth out of the head of one of them, and beat the
other insensible.

When in 1927, the Dukhobors in Canada heard that the Soviet
government would further “persecute” their leader by sending
him to Turkestan, thqr wrote frantic appeals to John Tregubov,
in Moscow; Paul Ivanovich Birukov in Switzerland, and to others
whom they hoped would petition for his release. .

290

SLAVA BOHU

John Tregubov, anti-imperialist journalist during the reign of
the last tsar, prevailed upon Soviet authorities for his release.

Moscow agreed that it would be cheaper and less troublesome
to issue to Peter Petrovich a passport out of the cotmtry, rather
than exile him in Turkestan.

Ottawa was led to believe that the new Peter Verigin would
have a sobering influence on the Dukhobors and encourage them
to send their children to school

So, in the fall of 1927, Peter, leaving behind him his wife and
family in whom he had little interest, set out for Canada.

In Paris, he was joined by Paul Birukov. Eighty years old, he
had suffered from loneliness since the death of Leo Tolstoy. Tol-
stoy had been the sun, Birukov the moon. Without the sun, the
moon ceased to shine. Poor old Birukov was one who must have a
cause to espouse, and now with Peter Verigin he set sail for New
York.

When the Aquitania reached New York on September 16,
Michael Cazakoff, in his best suit, was there to meet them. Verigin
returned Cazakoff’s bow.

In the hotel next day Verigin asked the now miserable Caza-
koflf : “Where are the books of the Community? Why did you not
bring them with you? And you tell me that the Christian Com-
munity of Universal Brotherhood is one million and a half dollars
in debt, you bandeit ?”

They went to Ottawa where the new Verigin made a favorable
impression on officials of the Canadian government. He spoke of
the need for education among the Dukhobors, and agreed that they
should conform to the laws of Canada.

At Winnipeg he told the Free Press Frame Farmer he was
anxious that the Dukhobors should have the best educational
advantages without relinquishing any of their religious tenets.
“We are willing to give the government our energies and our
brains, but not our souls,” he said. Like many others in the world,
he too greatly admired Tolstoy; had grieved at his death; was
very fortunate to have Paul Birukov, Tolstoy’s secretary and
friend, accompan 3 nng him to Canada.

From Winnipeg, he telephoned to Andrew Katelnikoff in
Yorkton, requesting only Andrew be at the station to meet him
there.

“I do not want to see the people the first day, dear Andrew.
You know what it is like, one is very tired . . . traveling.”

So when the train stopped at Yorkton, only Andrew, Pete

LEWD PARABLES

291

Morozoff and Peter Makaroff were on the platform. Two or three
of the faithful who had been waiting for days, stood at a safe
and respectful distance.

“Hello,” said Andrew in English, as Peter’s handsome mus-
tached face with Tartar eyes appeared in the coach vestibule.

“Sdorovo,” Peter nodded, almost bowed, and stepped down to
the platform.

Makaroif shook hands.

Paul Birukov, white beard flowing, reached up to Andrew’s
leathery face, and kissed him on each Aeek.

“Where is the automobile? No taxi?” asked Verigin, as they
walked across Yorkton’s main street.

“Oh, no, dear Cousin. When you said you were tired traveling,
I felt sorry for you and decided you would enjoy some exercise.
It is not far to my house,” Andrew added, winking at Makaroff.

Makaroff excused himself. He was in Yorkton because of
business at the Court House. He would go there now and join
them later.

Mrs. Katelnikoff, flushed with excitement and cooking dinner
over the stove, welcomed Peter warmly. He was still washing his
hands in the enamel basin above the sink, when Andrew showed
the guests their places at the table in the front room.

“Sadis, Mike,” Andrew said to Cazakoff who put his comb
back in his pocket and remained standing.

“Not yet,” Cazakoff rolled his eyes upward.

“I should wait until Petushka tells me where to sit.”

“Petushka has nothing to say here, in my house.”

Peter, who overheard this, came in to find everyone seated
except Cazakoff.

“Before we begin eating, we will stand up and thank the Lord
for His blessings,” said Peter, unable to conceal his irritation.

“We don’t usually say a grace,” said Andrew. “But it is all
right if you want to say one. Cousin.”

“Midiael,” said Verigin, “you will speak the prayer.”

Everyone stood while Cazakoff sanctimoniously carried out
the order.

During the meal, the conversation turned to education; Birukov
eulogized Tolstoy, spoke of his own plans for education among
the Dukhobors.

“Da, da, Tolstoy was a great man,” agreed Verigin. “I have
read all his books. Very wise philosophy. I could not bring him
here because he is dead, so I brought his secretary Paul Ivano-

292

SLAVA BOHU

vich Birukov. We will make the son shine for the ignorant ones,
those whom my father kept in darkness. Eh, Paul Ivanovich?”

After dinner, J. M. Patrick, who had been old Peter’s lawyer,
came to pay his respects to the new Peter. Then Petushka got
into bed in Andrew’s house and slept for a few hours. He awak-
ened so refreshed that he walked briskly to his deceased father’s
Yorkton residence and there set upon the unfortunate Cazakoff in
stentorian tones. A small group of awed Dukhobors listened out-
side.

“Oh, where are those $350,000? Blood of your mother, I will
find out where they have gone. I will audit the books when we
go to Verigin tomorrow. You will find out that I know every sys-
tem of bookkeeping, Italian, Russian, Turkish, American, single
entry, double entry, triple entry, one million times blood of your
mother, you sukinsin, son of a bitch.”

Birukov’s presence had at first restrained Verigin’s vitupera-
tion. But now his presence made no difference. Like an emascu-
lated and disillusioned Santa Qaus, the little old man sobbed like
a child, tears creeping down his cheeks and disappearing into his
beard. He had not money to buy a ticket back to Switzerland. And
when he implored Peter to send him back, Peter upbraided him
as a deserter.

Makaroff was not present to hear these tirades. But that eve-
ning at the brickyard with an audience of a hundred and fifty
packed into the two small rooms, he heard Verigin speak fluently
for nonviolence and pacifism.

Late that night in the steam bath Makaroff remarked to Ka-
telnikoff that Verigin had given a truly marvelous address.

“Da,” Andrew poured cold water over his steaming shoulders,
“you will hear him make more speeches.”

The next day Makaroff, puzzled concerning the new Verigin,
returned to Saskatooa Petushka himself, Birukov and Klatelni-
koff, a Dukhobor chauffeur at the wheel, drove to Verigin; sev-
eral automobiles and trucks of Dukhobors following b^ind.

At Verigin, in front of the ruler’s residence, more than 4,000
of the old and the new faithful were assembled in the traditional
V. A psalm of joy floated over the railway track and past the
tall grain elevators to the frame buildings on Main Street. The
autumn sun, shining down on the people, glinted on the black
fenders of Verigin’s automobile as it entered the courtyard. Step-
ping briskly from the car the new Petushka walked past the
white-clothed table with its bread, salt and water. On the steps

LEWD PARABLES

293

of the lower balcony he turned to face them. As of old they sang
until the psalm was finished, the last note seeming to be left sus-
pended in space like that of an Indian chant.

With great expectancy, they waited for him to begin the con-
ventional greeting. Twice he knelt and touched his forehead to
the much scrubbed floor of the balcony, twice they went on their
knees and touched their foreheads to the ground. Women wiped
away tears with handkerchiefs, men brushed them aside with soil-
worn hands; children instinctively knew this to be a day they
would remember.

“Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,” said Peter in his most
ingratiating voice, “truly I think it will be good if I go upstairs
to the second balcony. From there you will be able to hear me
better.”

He paused on the first step, as if deep in thought, then turned
again to face them. There was silence except for the distant whistle
of a train. Then his voice, resounding, prophetic :

“CSrod tells me to say that as soon as I put my feet on this first
step, I thought of the many times my father walked where I
stand now. Pravda, I know who killed my father. Many times I
felt angry and revengeful. But the Christ within me said, ‘Forgive
them, they know not what they do.’ ”

“Petushka knows the government killed his father,” an old
lady whispered.

Impressively he ascended the stairs, and from the upper bal-
cony proceeded to deliver a two-hour sermon of ambiguity, con-
tradiction, mysticism, wisdom, practical advice about farming,
verbatim quotations from the New Testament, and lewd non-
sence.

However, some of Verigin’s address had purpose.

He knew the people had divided themselves into several groups.
Community, Independents, Sons of Freedom. For that division
he could blame no one, because Gk)d had so ordered. “But now
the time has come when we will all gather in one great group, and
we will go forward as brothers and sisters to find the better life
here on earth, firm in our faith in Dukhobor principles.”

There was great hardships ahead, he said. “But God will help
us stand by our principles and we will have a new slogan, ‘The
welfare of the universe is not worth the life of one child.’ Not
one of our young men will be given to the government to join an
army, to kill others or be killed. Our children will be the true fol-
lowers of Jesus Christ and not the slaves of Satan.

294

SLAVA BOHU

“We will never be murderers. Who among you could imagine
Qirist an officer in an army? Yet we must not try to save our
lives. We must not be guided by intellect and science, but only
give our lives to God. Cm you remember Lot’s wife? Christ said,
‘Whosoever will try to save his life will lose it; and whosoever
will lose his life wiU save his life.’

“Christ said, go forth and preach the gospel. The gospel is
knowledge. ICnowledge is in schools. We will have schools, and
Paul Ivanovich Birukov will help us in these schools. I have al-
ready told the newspaper reporters that we will give everything
to the government and take everything the government has to
offer; but we will not give our souls, nor will we take anything
that is Satan’s.”

Then he lauded the Sons of Freedom as preachers and pilgrims ;
they were the “ringing bells” who went ahead to clear the way
for everyone. Sometimes when Sons of Freedom were clearing
the way, they left stumps sticking out of the ground and Com-
munity people fell over the stumps and blamed it on the Sons
of Freedom. “But all of us know that neither clearing the way
nor following is easy. The pathway to God is not a cement road.
The road to the Devil is paved, and greased so that you can slide
down hill easier on it. Sons of Freedom will never be slaves of
corruption. That is one slogan that we will write on a banner.”

Next he praised the Independents or “fanner Dukhobors.”
Some of them were Pharisees, had fallen into materialism, had
sinned. But it was necessary to sin in order to repent, and no one
could repent until he had sinned, and no one could be saved until
he repented. Thus there was great hope for the “farmer Dukho-
bors,” the “right wing.”

The center party was the Community Dukhobors. They had
done a great thing by staying in the community because they kept
the Sons of Freedom from going too far to the “left” and the
Independents from going too far to the “right.” The Community
people were the core. Sometimes it had seemed to the Sons of
Freedom and to the Independents that the core was getting rotten.
But that was not harmful because every core of every apple had
to become rotten before the seeds would sprout and grow a new
tree.

On and on he went, ejiplaining that he knew about the “right”
and the “left,” because he was an official of the Soviet govern-
ment; next he said he was not an official of the Soviet govern-

LEWD PARABLES 295

ment. He urged thrift and saving of money in one breath and
said that it was useless to save money, in another.

“And the time is coming I tell you truly when money in Canada
will be no good. That is the way it was in Russia, and there I
papered the outhouses with rubles to keep the draft from giving
me a cold in my ass.”

The crowd moved uneasily at this startling revelation.

Eventually he finished and entered his father’s rooms — ^his now.
In two’s and three’s and dozens the faithful climbed the stairs
as if to Heaven, left him money which he did not have to ask for,
thanked him, bowed and backed out the door.

Next day he spoke at Benito, on the following days, at Buchan-
an and at Kylemore. At these places they left the money beside
the jug of water, loaf of bread and jar of salt.

During his address at Buchanan he lauded Paul Birukov as a
great man, a friend of Leo Tolstoy whom he praised as a yet
greater man. “I have read all his books . . . very good philosophy.
. . . Tolstoy is like a beautiful apple. You eat, digest it, it comes
out of you.” With a lewd gesture of his hand, “But I can shit
out twenty like him in one ^y.”

The faithful went home, for hours to ponder over “Petushka’s
hidden meanings.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

PETER RASPUTIN

PETER PETROVICH VERIGIN continued his inaugural
tour of Saskatchewan. From each large meeting he invited two
or three Dukhobors to accompany him as his guests, in order to
signify the new unity.

Having delivered orations to the community people of the
South and Thunder Hill colonies and the Sons of Freedom and
Independents thereabout, and having collected a small club bag
full of money, he turned westward toward Blaine Lake district.
Blaine Lake district, once the Saskatchewan River Colony of old
Peter, had for ten years been Independent, with the exception of
a few Sons of Freedom.

“You will have to be careful what you say there. Those people
left your father years ago,” warned Andrew whose implike curi-
osity compelled him to accept Peter’s invitation.

Long before they reached Blaine Lake, something went wrong
with their automobile and Verigin, with Andrew, boarded a train
for Saskatoon. In a room in the Western Hotel, Verigin sat on
the bed with his head in his hands and groaned.

“What is the matter, dear cousin?

“I feel very bad, like a fever,” said Verigin. “I should have
some medicine I’m sure.”

“I will call a doctor.”

“No, no, a doctor is not necessary. I will be all right if you
ask Peter Makaroff to bring some whisky.”

Andrew telephoned Makarolf, telling him that “poor Petushka
has a bit of fever. He thinks some whisky would cure it.”

Verigin brightened up when Makaroff entered the door with
a bottle.

“Good health,” said Verigin as they raised their glasses. He
coughed, the Russian compliment to good vodka. “Peter, Peter,
I will never forget you, you have helped me so much today. You
are a very good lawyer.”

Next day Makaroff drove Peter and Andrew to the Dukhobor
holiday grounds about three miles from Blaine Lake town. It was
snowing and sleeting beneath a dull cold sky, so the Dukhobors

295

PETER RASPUTIN

297

had put up a great tent, borrowed from the Mennonites. It was
packed with all who could stand in it, men on the right, women
on the left, more than 1,500. Outside in the damp fall air stood
a few hundred more, including Mennonites and a few Ukrainians
who had come out of curiosity.

Verigin’s oratory was much the same as elsewhere, except that
it was less lewd. Twice he bowed to the ground, and so did his
audience. He referred to himself as “Chestiakov,” meaning “the
purger.” He would purge all the Dukhobors of their sins, and
unite them forever.

Especially fascinated by Petushka’s oratorical powers was John
Bonderoff. He had never forgotten, when as a boy some twenty
years before, he had heard Peter Petrovich Verigin tell the Sons
of Freedom that God would make Devil’s tails grow on their
bodies if they persisted in going naked.

Bonderoff whispered to Andrew Katelnikoff, requesting an
introduction to Petushka.

Something about Bonderoff’s greenish eyes seemed to attract
Verigin, for he immediately asked that Bonderoff be included in
the invitation to Nikito Popoff’s house after the meeting.

Birukov was already at Nikito’s house, having driven there
with Nikito. Verigin immediately asked for a room; he wished
to rest a little before eating. Upstairs he lighted a cigarette, inhal-
ing with great satisfaction; as yet he felt a bit uneasy about
smoking before those who did not use tobacco.

When Makaroff came to say the meal was nearly ready, he and
Verigin had a heated argument about Quakers.

Vigorously defending the Quakers and suggesting to Verigin
that his tirade against them showed ingratitude in face of the
voluntary aid the Quakers had given the Dukhobors, Makaroff’s
reasoning of the case only served to send Verigin into a tantrum.

“You fool,” Verigin shouted, shaking a finger close to Maka-
roff’s nose. “You do not know how to diink. I tell you truly that
I, Peter Petrovich Chestiakov Verigin, will within a year from
today convince all the Quakers in the world that I am right, and
they will be my followers.”

During the next two days Peter land his doubtful court visited
prominent Dukhobor farmers in the district, then returned south
to Saskatoon. At the Canadian National station, he instructed his
treasurer to open the club bag of bills and give $300 each to Nikito
Popoff and Fred Sookerokoff, the two unity delegates from Blaine
Lake district who were to accompany him to British Columbia.

298

SLAVA BOHU

“Those dollars are for your expenses,” said Verigin. “I know it
costs money to travel, and if you need more let me know.” John
Bonderoff looked longingly at the departing train, and returned
to Blaine Lake. Andrew Katelnikoff went back to Yorkton to
attend his Ccirpentering and philosophize over the events of the
week.

There were fifteen in the unity party bound for British Colum-
bia, including Cazakoff and Birukov. When night came Peter
would not take a berth in a sleeping car.

“Nyet, nyet, I will not waste the hard-earned money of the
toiling people on such luxuries,” he told his audience in the day
coach. “I am of the proletariat. See that bag up there,” he pointed
to the club bag of money on the rack above, “all that will be
used to help the people.”

“Petushka, is it safe to leave so many dollars like that? Possibly
we should hide it?” asked Cazakoff solicitously.

“Nyet, nyet, no one will touch my money. I could put thou-
sands of dollars here on the seat and no one would touch them.
One time in Russia, in a train half full of bandits, I put 50,000
rubles on the seat and went to sleep. When I woke, every ruble
was there. But ten other men on the train had everything stolen,”
Verigin declared.

Before the party reached Cowley, Alberta, everyone but Peter
suffered from lack of sleep. Somehow, he seemed able to do with
three or four hours sleep out of the twenty-four, and when the
others 3 ^wned or nodded their heads, he would launch into a
lecture about laziness.

His speech to the small community at Cowley was similar to
his previous orations, except that the presence of Nikito Popoff
and Sookerokoff somewhat restrained his passion for impossible
stories and vile language. When the party boarded the train again
for British Columbia, Peter Makaroff was on it. He had left
Saskatoon after the main party.

Along the rolling foothills of southern Alberta went the Cana-
dian Pacific’s Kootenay Express; winding into the Rocky Moun-
tains up to Crow’s Nest Pass and down the west side of the
watershed. Qimbing again to Cranbrook, then down to Kootenay
Landing where the river steamer with its white wisp of smoke
waited to take them on forty-five miles of emerald-green water,
edged by forest covered mountains to Nelson.

Apart from remarking that the mountains were “nothing com-

PETER RASPUTIN

299

pared to Caucasia,” Peter had little to say about scenery. He pre-
ferred to create an impression of nonchalance. From Cazakoff,
who was conversant with the route of travel, he obtained advance
information about landmarks, towns and villages, and he would
say to his courtiers, “That is Fernie . . . this is Elko we are now
approaching . . . yes, yes, I know all about the country. I studied
everything in Russia before I came to Canada.”

At Nelson, Shukin was standing on the dock, some others at a
respectful distance behind him. Shukin began bowing even before
Petushka left the boat, and when Petushka kissed him on the
mouth his lips trembled.

In the banya, by old Peter’s Nelson residence, the party had a
steam bath; then dinner, after which Peter kept them up, talking,
until four o’clock in the morning. Shukin, who would not sit
down in the presence of Petushka, was almost asleep on his feet.

Soon after daylight they set out in cars over the winding rock
hewn road to Brilliant. When from the highway, looking down
on the river and Brilliant village, he saw old Peter’s tomb, he
commanded the Dukhobor chauffeur to stop, and ran down the
embankment. The others followed to see the new Petushka on his
knees beside the grave of the old. While he sobbed aloud, a wel-
coming psalm welled up from the assemblage.

As he walked to his place at the front of the v-shaped assem-
blage between the jam factory and the community offices, Dunia,
his mother, came to speak with him. He strode on and waited
until the psalm ended.

After his speech, Peter had his evening meal served in old
Peter’s Brilliant residence. There were thirty of the select with
him, and a picked choir singing by the windows outside. He re-
quested this hymn or that folk song, and laughed loudly at his
own jokes. Those at the end of the table, who could not always
hear the jokes echoed his laughter.

Beads of perspiration gathered on his forehead, and, complain-
ing of the heat, he got up to open one of the windows. Once,
twice, three times he pushed upward, but the window, painted in
its casement, refused to budge. Several had half risen from their
benches to help him, when suddenly he flung his arm through the
window and sent a shower of glass on the heads of the startled
choir. They ceased singing abruptly. The glass had not stopped
tinkling before Verigin, opening and closing his fists, and bran-
dishing them over his head, let loose a barrage of profanity which

300

SLAVA BOHU

not only mentioned the Trinity but ranged through various ani-
mals and their close relatives. He ended by advising the care-
taker to have incestuous relationship with his mother.

Having thus relieved his feelings, he resumed his place at the
table amidst whispers of, “Da, da, Ae caretaker is to blame . . .
The window should have worked ... It was very hot. Poor
Petushka, sometimes he is very nervous because of the way the
Bolsheviks tortured him in Russia. . .

Next morning before six o’clock, he was inquiring if everyone
was at work, and he began an inspection of the machine shop,
where he found fault with everything.

“This lathe must be turned around. . . . Wrong way. . . . That
belt is too tight, it will bum out the bearings. . . . Tighten the
lacing on this belt. . . .”

The mechanics, nodding their heads, and marveling at his per-
ception, made these unnecessary changes.

Leaving Brilliant astir, he set out for Grand Forks Colony by
automobile. At a small village by the edge of the colony he stopped
to question the bearded patriarch to whom the rest of the vil-
lagers looked for guidance in everyday affairs. The fine-appearing
old muzhik answered the many questions in his pleasant, respect-
ful voice. Then Verigin, as if momentarily at a loss what next
to ask, pointed to the towering mountains.

“Where is the boundary line of our property up there?” he
asked.

“Ya neszniao, I don’t know,” the old man answered. “It is like
this, Petushka. Those mountaintops are very far away; no one
lives there, nor will the land there grow anything. So we did not
go there to see where are the boundary stakes. . .

"So ! This is how you attend to the business of the toiling peo-
ple. How do you not know there is gold on these mountaintops?
You bastard, you are too lazy to go there and see. ... You fool,
crook, bandit, sukinsin, a million times blood of your mother.”

The old man trembled, his face the color of ashes, tears in his
astounded blue eyes. It was not what he had hoped for from his
God; he who had worked so long and hard for the Community.
But he said nothing in reply, his gnarled hands hung loosely by
his sides, his lips parted, his shoulders sagged.

Makaroff turned away, nauseated; still more depressing was
the realization that the old fellow accepted the tirade as fate, as
one must accept a thunderbolt should it fall from the hands of
the Grreat God beyond a blue and cloudless sky.

PETER RASPUTIN

301

Early in the morning of the day that the new Petushka was
expected, the faithful of Grand Forks assembled in front of the
meetinghouse. They stood all morning singing psalms and recit-
ing prayers. Through the afternoon they continued, traditional
custom preventing them from eating or even sitting down xmtil
their leader should arrive.

The sim sank behind the western rim of the mountains, and
still the assemblage waited, singing wearily. About midnight an
old man fainted, and then it was decided that everyone should go
to sleep, as it seemed evident that the new Petushka would not
appear until next morning.

Peter, all this time, was “resting” in his father’s residence. He
slept for an hour or so, took longer than usual over his shaving,
perused newspapers in Russian language and intermittently
poured himself whisky. He was deliberately oblivious of the wait-
ing people, until he heard that they had gone to sleep. Then shed-
ding his dilatoriness as if it had become a shirt of fire, he rushed
downstairs and shouted, “Stoi! Stoi! Is this the way you receive
me?”

Like bewildered cattle they rose to their feet, and shuffling to
their places, began a psalm of welcome. When the psalm had
ended, Peter launched into his oration.

Sweat rolled from his face as he told them how to earn eternal
life. “When Judgment Day comes, you will see me on one side
of God, and Christ on the other side. You, the true Dukhobors
will be behind us, the jury. All other people of the world will
be out in front, in the prisoner’s dock, getting judged. . . .”

As if drawing unto himself what remained of their ebbing
strength, he grew yet more vital as they became more tired. Some-
time after three in the morning he finished his oration and went
upstairs to his room.

By six o’clock next morning he was up and about. Stalking
like a genie through the orchards on the hillsides, criticizing the
system of irrigation, condemning the selection of apple trees.

Having stirred Grand Forks Colony from its orchard roots
to its mountaintops, he went to Trail where he summoned his
“commissars” to meet him in the Dukhobor rooming house which
was kept for the Community men who worked in the smelter of
the Consolidated Mining and Smelting Company. At this “su-
preme council of Dukhobor Soviets,” as he termed it, komisari
were to be elected.

“We must be democratic, no dictatorship by anyone,” he said.

302

SLAVA BOHU

“I will nominate Gabriel Verashagin as commissar o£ education.”

Gabriel was elected unanimously. And so it went on, with com-
missars of industry, trade, commerce; almost ever3rthing but a
minister of war: “We do not believe in an army, so we cannot
have army commissars.”

After the formation of this m5^cal Soviet republic, which
was soon to be forgotten, Petushka returned to Brilliant where he
appointed himself auditor for the books of the Christian Com-
munity of Universal Brotherhood Limited. For three days and
most of three nights he badgered Cazakoff and Shukin, ordering
them to bring him this statement and that inventory.

Cazakoff and Shukin, bowing and thanking him, brought him
sheets of paper which he tore to pieces.

Nikito Popofif, Sookerokoff, Makaroff and several others de-
cided to go home to Saskatchewan. They had had enough. Peter
was a madman, a milinki Rasputin.

Peter, hearing of their intention before they left, delivered a
wonderful oration about loyalty to the cause, co-operation, peace.
But at the last there was nothing for him to do but embrace the
departing guests, who remained cold to him in the face of his
appeals. Kneeling in front of them, tears streaming down his
chedcs, he kissed their boots.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

FANTASIA

PETER PETROVICH VERIGIN, now frequently referring
to himself as “Chestiakov” the “purger,’* continued to keep his
followers in an agitated state. Throughout his continual orations
ran a theme of “unification.” He would ever 3 nvhere unite the
Dukhobors in one great Christian family. His ambiguous asser-
tions concerning everything from cucumbers to eternal life, his
contradictory speech and behavior. Biblical quotations, obscenity,
energy and powers of oratory, held his listeners spellbound in
their confusion.

He ordered a mimeographing machine for Birukov and allowed
the incurable old zealot to typewrite vast educational programs of
which nothing was to materialize beyond a series of circular let-
ters. Thousands of books in Russian and English were to be
ordered; eventually, Dukhobor newspapers and magazines would
be published, moving pictures made to portray Dukhobor history,
and the “great things to come.” Day, night, and Sunday schools
would be opened. So immersed in this dream did Birukov become,
and so busy was Peter with yet vaster plans, that Birukov felt
secure in sending to Switzerland for his wife and family.

Verigin decreed a series of “unity” conferences in British Co-
lumbia and Saskatchewan. Delegates to the first of these in Sas-
katchewan assembled in midwinter at Canora, the delegatsi bring-
ing with them lengthy resolutions which were to be submitted to
Petushka.

On the appointed day Peter himself did not arrive. Instead he
sent a telegram, “. . . May God bless you in your work. Have
faith, hope, love. Be a true follower of the true way of life, the
Named Dukhobors. I am sorry I am unable to be at the confer-
ence. Always yours, Peter Chestiakov.”

The bewildered delegates read and reread the telegram. What
did Petushka mean by “Named Dukhobors”? Why did he not
come? No one knew. But the conference went on for several days,
discussing unification, government, religion and morality.

Then Verigin sent word that it ^ould adjourn, and another be
called for February 24, at Verigin. The delegates returned to their

303

304

SLAVA BOHU

home districts, where the faithful vied with one another in making
resolutions that they thought would please Petushka.

Once more the Saskatchewan delegates set out for the confer-
ence, while bearded, rubber-shod Sons of Freedom boarded a
train in British Columbia to travel more than 1,000 miles to
Saskatchewan.

When Verigin himself arrived at Veri^n, he went upstairs to
his rooms, sending word down to the meeting on the ground floor
that it should proceed without him. This unexpected order left
the chairman at a decided disadvantage, but he opened the con-
vention with a prayer and a psalm in song, hoping for the best.
Delegates contributed brief speeches about “unity,” resolutions
were read and discussed hesitantly, and still Petushka stayed up-
stairs like a god in his heaven, the delegates below sweating in a
sea of resolutions, argument, apprehension, and insufficient ven-
tilation.

Verigin commissioned the chairman and secretary of his con-
ference executive to “go everywhere among the people and ex-
plain the report.”

And so the winter wore on and gave way to spring.

Under the auspices of spring air, the Sons of Freedom grew in
numbers and boldness. “We will make our children the servants
of Christ but will not allow them to enter public schools which
would turn them into slaves of corruption, and we will never make
entries in books of births, marriages and deaths for we know
that the Creator has already entered us into the book of Life,”
the Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood, Sons of
Freedom of Grand Forks, wrote to the prime minister of Canada,
March 20.

With yet warmer weather and greener grass came scattered
outbreaks of nudism in British Q)ltimbia and Saskatchewan.
These demonstrations so disturbed some of the Independents that
toward the end of May they called a conference at which they im-
plored Petushka to achnonish the Sons of Freedom.

V^igin called a conference of the “Named Dukhobors,” to be
held in Buchanan, Saskatchewan, on June 27, two days prior to
Peter’s Day. The Named Dukhobors, he revealed, were all those
who held allegiance to himself.

Resolutions about education, governments and laws, were dis-
cussed as usual. Some of these, laboriously drafted, later received
the approval of the Canadian government. Yet the men respon-

FANTASIA 305

sible for these deliberations incongruously looked to Peter Veri-
gin for guidance.

On Peter’s Day, more than 1,000 of his followers assembled
in ceremonial fashion by the shores of Devil’s Lake, a large slough
on the green Prairie. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and all
day they had eaten none of the food they had brought for the
picnic, because tradition was that they should first hear their
leader’s address.

Peter should have been there by noon. At four o’clock clouds
were gathering in the sky and the assemblage decided to eat before
the rain came. Sitting beneath the poplar trees, they began their
meal. A group of men and women demonstrated “freedom” by
disrobing and wading naked into Devil’s Lake.

When Peter arrived he was annoyed with his followers for
daring not to wait for him, and at once began a harangue which
threatened to last far into the evening. But his audience, glancing
overhead at the gathering rain clouds, left one by one to hitdi
their horses to their wagons and democrats.

In the end, Peter returned to British Columbia, where he or-
dered one meeting after another, and while the faithful sang
psalms and waited for him, he sat in his house drinking whisky.

To Brilliant that summer went the Rev. Peter Bryce, who
later was to become Moderator of the United Church of Canada.
For nearly twenty years he had been chief medical officer of the
Federal Immigration Service, and before that he had been awarded
gold and silver medals in the University of Toronto. A quiet and
carefully mannered man with graying hair he was impressed by
Shukin, the jam factory and “tfiese people who are trying to imi-
tate the life of Christ.”

When he asked Shukin why the women had their hair bobbed,
Shukin replied that bobbed hair had always been a Dukhobor
custom. “So that I made then, incidentally, a scientific discovery
as to the source of our most modem female fad,” Peter Bryce
later wrote in his booklet. The Value to Canada of the Continen-
tal Immigrant, Chapter VII, “A Day with the Dukhobors of the
Kootenay Valley, British Columbia/'

“This simple Russian people from the far Caucasus,” wrote
Bryce, “possessed the pure artistic tjiste shown in this remarkable
creation of modem art . . . the elegant mausoleum of gray granite,
which marks the tomb of Prince Peter Verigin whose memory is
held in reverence by every good Dukhobor as being the Moses

306

SLAVA BOHU

who brought them to the promised land.” And Bryce was excep-
tionally pleased that the Christian Brotherhood was “as far as
possible from Bolshevism.” Peter H. Bryce did not have the
pleasure of hearing one of Peter P. Verigin’s speeches, and if he
had, it is probable that the diplomatic Shukin would have refrained
from verbatim translation.

In the fall, Peter Verigin, ever moving, returned to Saskatche-
wan. The prime minister of Canada was touring Western Canada,
and the Blaine Lake Dukhobors took this opportunity of inviting
Mackenzie King to address them in the town which was within
his own constituency of Prince Albert.

Peter Verigin, over the telephone from Langham, agreed to
preside at the meeting, which was attended by hundreds of Dukho-
bors and others. But when Peter did not arrive, his faithful made
excuses for his absence, the meeting passing without incident other
than that several Sons of Freedom offered to disrobe in honor of
the prime minister.

To government officials and newspapef reporters, Verigin was
politely aloof, almost saintly, assuring his interviewers that he
was doing his best to have his people obey the laws and send their
children to school.

To the Sons of Freedom he held the government up to ridicule,
praising the “ringing bells” for their belief in freedom from all
laws other than God’s.

School attendance dwindled almost to nothing in Grand Forks
Colony, so that in January of 1929, Colonel McMullin, superin-
tendent of provincial police, again instructed his men to arrest
parents who had failed to send their children to school. Near the
town of Grand Forks, some fifty Dukhobors, led by the naked
Strepnikoff and his wife, resisted arrest and were sprayed with
tear gas.

While Peter Verigin continued to assure the authorities how
sorry he was that the Sons of Freedom would not obey the laws,
he told the Sons of Freedom that he had to tell them one thing
and the government another, otherwise he would be persecuted by
the government, possibly deported from Canada, and they, the
Sons of Freedom, would in consequence suffer for lack of divine
leadership.

Paul Ivanovich Birukov, finally disillusioned, was overcome
with a stroke which partly paralyzed him. In a wheel chair, accom-
panied by his wife and family, he returned to Switzerland where,
soon afterwards, he died.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

NUDE STRATEGY

OF THE THREE FACTIONS “united” in what Verigin
called “Named Dukhobors,” by far the largest group was the
Community folk, all of whom trusted their destiny to him.

Independents were second in numerical importance, and were
last in degree of faith.

It was the Sons of Freedom, thanks to his praise of their views
and exploits, who continued to grow in both zeal and numbers,
drawing additional converts mainly from Community men and
women. New apostles, bearded and rubber-shod young men such
as Paul Vatkin and Peter Maloff, went forth as “ringing bells”
and “scouts on the hilltops” to preach the various beliefs or their
enigmatic and flexible creed. At the same time there was a move-
ment of Sons of Freedom from the mountain valleys of British
Columbia to the prairies of Saskatchewan.

Verigin, while lauding the sons and daughters for their an-
tipathy to “material civilization,” governments and education,
ordered the erection of additional buildings in Community cen-
ters, and dispatched a delegation to Ottawa with instructions to
inform the Canadian prime minister that all Dukhobors wished
to obey the government’s laws.

For this mission to Ottawa, Verigin chose John Bonderoif,
who was well pleased with the prospect of traveling more than
1,500 miles, at the end of which he would explain the “Named
Dukhobors” to Prime Minister Mackenzie King. A second dele-
gate selected by Verigin was the fat and cringing Vasili Mahonin,
who, though slightly dubious concerning a journey to that iniqui-
tous place, the seat of government, was glad to leave behind him
Petushka’s threats and profanity. As legd counsel and interpreter
for the delegation, Verigin retained Peter Makarolf, the lawyer
from Saskatoon.

Thus in the early summer of 1929, before the freshness had
gone from the poplar leaves, and when the wheat fields of Saskatch-
ewan unrolled like great green carpets on either side of the
railway, the delegates and interpreter entrained for Ottawa.

On arriving there they registered at the Chateau Laurier, the

307

308

SLAVA BOHU

great castlelike hotel at the foot of Parliament Hill, stronghold
of honorable members, senators and rotarians-at-luncheon; pa-
tronized by most distinguished visitors and itinerant emissaries on
important errands to the capital city of Canada.

“It is truly wonderful, John,” said Makaroif, “how you are
now a diplomat from the prime minister of the Named Dukhobors
to the prime minister of Canada.”

“Well,” Bonderoff hesitated, “I, that is, we, must do every-
thing to help the people.”

“Da, da, that is so,” echoed Mahonin sitting in an upholstered
chair, his feet pressing against the soft red carpet, hands clasped
across his chest. “We must do everything, must help Petushka
help the people. Slava Bohu.”

“Even when he calls you a sukinsin and hits you on your head,”
said Makaroff.

Mahonin shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Bonderoff took from his suitcase a sheaf of typewritten pages,
in English and Russian.

“This is no time for idle talk,” he said, firmly putting the sheets
on the writing table. “We must not waste the public funds with
talk. We must now put the Protocol in order to present to the
prime minister.”

The “Protocol,” as Bonderoff insisted on calling it, was a result
of one of Verigin’s numerous conventions. Its contents had been
unanimously agreed upon by about sixty delegates of the Named
Dukhobors at a meeting on the farm of Vasili Popoff, near Kam-
sack, on June 27, 1928. It set forth that the teachings of the
Named Dukhobors were based on the teachings of Jesus Christ
and the Law of God. It went on to say that violence in any form
could not be tolerated and included several slogans coined by
Verigin, such as, “The welfare of the whole world is not worth
the life of one child.”

“Crimes and all actions of criminal character cannot come be-
fore the Named Dukhobors, because it is plain that any member
who commits a crime automatically ceases to be a member of
the Society. . . .”

“Education is recognized as an absolute necessity. ... It is
necessary and desirable that our children attend Canadian schools,
but teaching of Imperialism and hatred, in its various forms,
cannot be tolerated.

“Marriage should be lifelong. ‘Whom God hath joined together.

NUDE STRATEGY

309

let no man put asunder.’ The foundation of marriage is love.
Without such love there can be no marriage union, and therefore
the married couple should be allowed to separate. The divorced
couple should give each other peacefully written permits that each
may remarry as they see fit. All questions purporting to the se-
curity of the children by the marriage, if any, and compensation
to the damaged party, will be settled by the elder members of
the Society and their decision should be considered final and bind-
ing upon all parties concerned.”

Thus in the Protocol there was nothing that the Canadian
government had not already granted the Dukhobors, with the
exception of the right to divorce without recourse to the courts.

“I think you had better delete that part seeking permission to
manage your own divorce court,” Makaroff suggested. “I'm cer-
tain it will not be granted.”

“We must demand everything in the Protocol. We must tell
the Canadian premier what is necessary,” Bonderoff shook a dra-
matic finger at Makaroff.

Makaroff got up from his chair. “If you think you are going
to impress me with your antics, you are mistaken. And if you
are going to ape Petushka when we get in the Parliament Build-
ings, I tell you that you can go there alone,” he said.

Bonderoff subsided. The three set to work to draft a conden-
sation of the Protocol, including the request for free divorce
within the Named Dukhobors’ society.

In the cathedral-like government buildings they were received
by one of the prime minister’s secretaries who listened attentively
to the contents of the Protocol, and explained that Mr. King
would like to see them but that he was, of course, quite busy willi
the House of Commons in session.

Bonderoff, however, subbomly insisted on seeing Mr. King
himself, in accord with Mr. Verigin’s instructions.

Later, when they were ushered into the prime minister’s office,
he, a roundish man, rose smiling from behind a large desk and
shook hands.

“I have a happy recollection of addressing the Dukhobors at
Blaine Lake,” he said courteously.

Bonderoff, in Russian, said the Dukhobors were happy to live
in Canada, a free country.

After Makaroff had translated a few further platitudes. King
inquired what might he be able to do for the delegation.

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SLAVA BOHU

Makaroff read from the resume of the Protocol. Mr. King
nodded affably until he heard the request for divorce outside the
courts.

“I understand your request, but would you please tdl these
gentlemen that the Federal government has no jurisdiction over
this. Solemnization of marriages is something you should take
up with the provincial government,” said the prime minister
with a practiced air of quietly dismissing the subject.

“Excuse me, Mr. King,” said Makaroff, “but it is the form and
substance of laws concerning divorce that is referred to by my
clients, and that is exclusively a Federal matter.” Makaroff,
though personally opposed to the request for free divorce, would
let the prime minister know that he, as a lawyer, was acquainted
with the law.

“Well,” Mackenzie King put his thumbs under his coat lapels,
swayed his shoulders almost imperceptibly, “the best I can do is
have you referred to the proper department.”

Diplomat, genius in the art of evasion. King politely declined
to accept copies of the Protocol.

“I suggest you should return tomorrow, when my secretary
will have a file about Dukhobors available,” he said rising. Smil-
ing, he shook hands, said again how happy he was to have met the
delegation, and, good-bye.

The next morning they were received once more by the secre-
tary, who talked pleasantly, everyone deploring the occasional
outbreaks of fanaticism among the Dukhobors. However, he did
not seem to want the Protocol for his file.

Nobody was enthusiastic about accepting the Protocol, but
eventually, after the delegates had walked several miles on marble
floors in the course of being passed back and forth from one
official to another, they found someone willing to place it in a file.
Mahonin said his feet were sore from walking on “many cement
floors,” and as they left the Parliament Buildings he remarked
again on the absence of Cossacks and soldiers.

“Only two guards inside the door, and two policemen by the
iron gate, and none of them look angrily at us.”

Before leaving Ottawa they saw the House of Commons in
session, from the visitors’ ^lery. Mahonin thought it a good rule
that the prime minister did not curse members of Parliament,
nor chase his cabinet ministers with a stick, not even the sprightly
page boys._ Bonderoff, very quiet, his eyes and ears trying to take
in everything, could not help but compare the noisy insignificance

NUDE STRATEGY

311

of Petushka’s court to this orderly assembly of men. Makaroff,
listening keenly to the debates, felt that he would like to be down
there among the contestants.

Returning to Saskatchewan the trio parted, Makaroff to his
law office in Saskatoon, while Bonderoff and Mahonin went to
Verigin to report to Petushka.

When they got off the train at Verigin, the station platform was
alive with Sons of Freedom. Restless men and women, many
of them in their teens, who talked about “ringing bells,” the prom-
ised land, lauded Petushka, reiterated that education was not
necessary.

While the delegation was in Ottawa presenting the Protocol
to Mackenzie King and assuring the prime minister that educa-
tion was necessary, schoolhouses had been burned to the ground in
Dukhobor districts of Saskatchewan. Police, unable to penetrate
the secrecy surrounding these burnings, were unable to apprehend
the incendiaries.

Further trouble soon came. But Verigin himself was two hun-
dred and fifty miles away, in the Blaine Lake district, when on
July 13 about one hundred and fifty Sons of Freedom gathered
along Kamsack’s main street. Carrying banners about toil and
peaceful life, singing hymns and preaching, they soon drew a
large audience of townspeople and farmers. It was Saturday after-
noon in this town of 2,200 population, half of whom were of
British descent. The merchants were losing business by this coun-
terattraction and its audience blocking the doorways to their stores.

As if offering competition to the local moving-picture show, the
sons and daughters of freedom took up their stand on a vacant
lot across from the Elite Theatre, refusing to move when the town
policemen asked them to disperse. According to the local by-laws
of Kamsack, the town authorities had a right to break up a demon-
stration that had not received, nor even requested, permission to
parade. Thus at an emergency meeting of Mayor Jackett, Police
Chief Anderson, the fire <iief, the Kamsack officer of the mounted
police, and merchants, it was decided to disperse them with the
fire hose.

Hearing of this Satan’s plan to disrupt their ceremony before
Gk)d, several men and women took off their clothes. This display
of nudity, accompanied by the tolling of the fire bell, made many
of the spectators feel that it was the most exciting Saturday after-
noon they had ever had in Kamsack.

While the pumps were being connected to the water supply

312

SLAVA BOHU

from the Assiniboine River, three reels of fire hose were unrolled
and the firemen advanced, brass nozzles in hand. The assemblage
having just finished a psalm. Police Chief Anderson took this
opportunity to again ask them to disperse.

“We will first finish our ceremony before God,” said a voice
from the assemblage. “Sons of Freedom cannot be sons of cor-
ruption.”

A stream of water from the hose was the answer. The sons
and daughters retreated stubbornly, a few fighting for possession
of the hose. Fists flew now and again while water flowed in all
directions. The force of the water stripped the shirts and dresses
from those who had not previously undressed themselves, and
who persisted in staying in the path of the hose.

A seventeen-year-old volunteer fireman, just out of collegiate,
was amazed and embarrassed to recognize a Dukhobor girl, a
friend of his, standing naked before him, her hair soaked with
water, defiance in her brown eyes. She was a young school teacher,
not more than twenty-two, spoke good English, and he had often
escorted her to picture shows and dances.

The bedraggled and angry huddle moved away from Main
Street, turned up Third Street, followed by the fire truck, police
on horseback, and a throng of townsfolk and farmers. The truck
driver wedged in between the retreating parade, but it joined
again, after which there was desultory resistance, one stout daugh-
ter, her blouse torn by the water, hitting a volunteer fireman over
his head with a cordwood stick.

Sergeant Ward, with two more red-coated mounted police,
herded them over the bridge west of town and along the highway
to Verigin.

For the rest of the evening in Kamsack, little groups stood
on the sidewalks and in the stores, arguing about the propriety of
the action, or joking about it all.

The townspeople during the next week formed a committee and
made representations to the Honourable Robert Forke, minister
of immigration at Ottawa, that Peter Verigin “is inciting his
people to disregard the laws of Canada.” The committee said that
Verigin was a fit subject for deportation. A similar petition was
sent to the attorney general of Saskatchewan.

The Named Dukhobors of Kamsack district retaliated for the
turning of the fire hose on the Sons of Freedom, by refusing to
attend Kamsack’s annual fair on July 31. This, they declared, was

NUDE STRATEGY 313

only a beginning ; in future they would buy no clothing, food nor
farm machinery repairs in Kamsack.

Verigin himself, alarmed at the hue and cry for his deporta-
tion to Russia, hurried to Winnipeg, where, in lengthy newspaper
interviews, he condemned the Sons of Freedom and denied all
responsibility for the parade into Kamsack, the burning of school-
houses and the general resistance to education.

In a statement written by himself in Russian and literally trans-
lated in the offices of Ney and Golsof, Winnipeg lawyers, he
referred to the Protocol of the Named Dukhobors which he had
sent to the highest authorities of the Canadian government. In
that Protocol the Dukhobors committed themselves to education
and obeying the laws of Canada.

He expressed his “delight and appreciation” that Dukhobors
subjected to “humiliation and assaults in Kamsack; nevertheless
did not submit to the provocateurs, but remained faithful to their
teachings of Christ.

“Ninety per cent of the inhabitants of Kamsack and its vicinity
are alarmed at the lawlessness practiced upon innocent people . . .
we will strive to obtain from the highest authorities of the gov-
ernment an unbiased investigation into the whole matter.

“On the banners of the Society of Named Dukhobors of
Canada there is inscribed :

“Toil and Peaceful Life;

“The Sons of Liberty cannot be Slaves of Corruption.

“The Wealth of the Whole Universe is Not Worth the ‘Sacri-
fice of One Child.’

“With incendiaries, robbers and rogues of whatever calibre
and with other so-called Dukhobors, who in their mode of living
are ‘Black Hundreds,’ the Named Dukhobors have not and never
will have an3^hing in common.

Verigin’s epistles in the newspapers were as confusing to the
Canadian public as were his orations to his own followers. But
they had the effect of dividing public opinion on the question of
his deportation from the country, and the agitation for it subsided.

There was little else to the Kamsack incident. Independent
Dukhobors resumed their dealings with the merchants. Boris
Sachatoff, the Jewish watch mender, enjoyed himself by philoso-
phizing in letters to the newspapers about the “Gk)spel of Christ
... the sinful world” . . . and “peaceful Sons of Freedom tortured
in Kamsack by a stream of cold water.”

314

SLAVA BOHU

In the belief that longer jail sentences would be a deterrent to
sons and daughters of freedom appearing naked in public, the
Federal government passed a law allowing a maximum penalty
of three years in prison on conviction. Thus when on a Sunday
evening toward the end of August, 1929, thirty men and women
were arrested near Canora, Saskatchewan, and charged in York-
ton with parading in the nude, four men were sentenced to three
years each. Four more were sentenced to two and one half years
each ; six men to sixty days ; one woman to eighteen months ; two
girls to sixty days; and nine women to two days.

These prison sentences were given publicity in British Columbia
in the hope that nudity there would be discouraged, but on Au-
gust 29, more than one hundred and fifty Dukhobors paraded
nude near Bonnington. Police arrested one hundred and twenty-
seven, fifty women and fifty-five men were sentenced to six months
each in Okalla Jail, eight children were sent to a home on the
Pacific coast, and the rest were dismissed.

Paul Vatkin, who, with a fanatical gleam in his eyes, traveled
up and down the Kootenay valley preadiing against governments,
schools, and man-made laws, resisted arrest on September 1, and
was in consequence sentenced to six months hard labor on Okalla
prison farm. He had previously been released from prison that
summer after serving six months for obstructing a police officer.

Peter Verigin, who still felt frightened over the agitation for
his deportation, now condemned the Sons of Freedom to the
Community Dukhobors, and the frugal living hard working Com-
munity folk took this opportunity to eject “ringing bells” from
their midst. Thus, bands of Sons of Freedom, still believing in
Verigin, wandered about the country, preaching, eating raw vege-
tables and impeding automobile traffic on the highways. More than
two hundred of them were arrested on September 21 and taken to
Nelson, where they were to be charged with vagrancy. But as the
jails of British Columbia were filling up, the authorities herded
the men, women and children a few miles south to Porto Rico
where they promised to settle down on stump land from which the
Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood had taken most
of the timber.

At this stage the Vancouver Star pointed out editorially that
Peter Verigin had on several occasions publicly denounced the
Sons of Freedom. “He is the supreme and absolute authority in
the affairs of the community, directing the policy of its various
industries and communal operations. He cheerfully assumes full

NUDE STRATEGY

315

responsibility for all the money which flows in the treasury, and
this unquestioned authority results from the belief that he is the
Lord’s annointed.

“Why, then, is this supreme ruler unable to discipline and con-
trol the supposedly small band whose unlawful acts he professes to
disavow? If Verigin and the Christian Community of Universal
Brotherhood were sincere, they would put an end to the trouble.”

The Star's questions were answered with more parades and
burnings in British Columbia and Saskatchewan.

The department of the attorney general for Saskatchewan
posted reward notices offering $1,000 for information given to
the Royul Canadian Mounted Police which would lead to the
conviction of any person or persons who caused destruction by
fire of school buildings.

With the coming of the cold rains in the Kootenays and snow
on the prairies, parading and schoolhouse burning ceased.

Peter Verigin, accompanied by a choir of young women and
a few of his male and female associates of the moment, left for
Southern California. In California he would “unite” the few In-
dependent Dukhobors fruit farming there, and bring several thou-
sand Molokans into his fold. But the Americanized Molokans,
whose ancestors, like those of the Mennonites, had lived close
to the Dukhobors by the Milky Waters River in Russia more
than a hundred years before, failed to respond to his orations.
And after he hkd beaten an Independent Dukhobor farmer,
thereby estranging himself from the settlement there, he returned
to British Columbia, where he informed the faithful that he had
tried to save the Molokans and Dukhobors of California, but
they had assumed the ways of the Devil, and were lost.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

WHITE HORSE TO MEXICO

TO THE FAITHFUL, Peter Verigin announced they should
soon leave Canada forever. “On a white horse,” he would lead
them to a better land. “There, in that faraway place, everyone will
live happily, the days of tribulation will be ended.”

The symbolical white horse, on which the “good” Dukhobors
were to ride out of Canada, particularly appealed to the Sons of
Freedom. The vision grew to such proportions that several
dreamed they saw an enormous white horse bounding over the
mountains, with all the Dukhobors riding on it, Petushka sitting
in front with the Sons of Freedom behind him. It was only a
symbol ; no horse could be so large, but God had chosen this way
to show them they must prepare for the journey to the better land.

Peter, in his orations, reminded them that the “white horse”
was an exception to other horses. “His hay and oats are dollars.
He is one of those horses who must eat one-dollar bills, two-
dollar bills, five-dollar bills and even one-hundred-dollar bills.
Those dollars he must have, so that he will not be weak, or I tell
you truly I will not be to blame for everyone staying in Canada
where they will be caught by the catastrophe which is rushing
toward everyone here. In the promised land, money will not be
necessary. In Canada, those who are left behind will not be able
to use the money they now selfishly hide. All these paper dollars,”
he pulled a fat roll from his pocket, “will not be worth as much
as potato peelings when chaos comes to the banks and the govern-
ment. I do not have to remind you that not even a pig can keep
from starving by eating green pieces of paper that look like grass,
yellow pieces of paper that look like ripe grain in the field, nor red
pieces of paper that look like carrots.”

At the start of the “white horse fimd,” the Sons of Freedom
were the most generous contributors, but long before the fund
grpw to its maximum of $500,000, almost all Named Dukhobors
had contributed, so as to be on the safe side. To Independents, in
some instances, he offered inducements of interest. Community
folk, who were supposed to have little or no money, produced

316

WHITE HORSE TO MEXICO 317

silver and bills which they had hidden away in mattresses and
trunk bottoms.

Most of this “white horse money” Peter loaned to the Christian
Community of Universal Brotherhood Limited, which, since his
arrival in Canada, had become more involved in indebtedness. On
this money he collected six per cent interest part of which he
turned over to Independents who had cannily insisted that their
contribution to the fund be a loan. In this manner he became the
largest legal creditor of the Community; in fact, became it by
loaning to the people their own money.

During the “white horse” campaign, Petushka often referred
to “the ninety-nine-year lease.” Though he varied the story from
time to time, it was like this : When his father, Peter Vasilivich
Verigin, was in England on his way to Canada, he interviewed
Queen Victoria, who told him the Dukhobors would be allowed
to stay in Canada for ninety-nine years, during which period they
would “be free from all laws.” At the expiration of the ninety-
nine-year lease,” they would either have to obey all Canadian laws,
or leave Canada. Old Peter had not publicly mentioned this prom-
ise, as, had he done so, the Empress of Russia would have become
jealous of Queen Victoria, and, as a result, Dukhobors, still in
Siberian exile, would have been persecuted.

A slight variation of the story was the “letter from Queen
Victoria in England to Peter Vasilivich Verigin in Canada, enclos-
ing the ninety-nine-year lease of freedom from all laws.”

“I have that very letter written to my father. It is safely in my
archives,” Peter Petrovich Verigin declared on one occasion when
he was visiting in the farmhouse of an Independent Dujchobor of
Blaine Lake district. It was then that he said he had just received
a letter from Ramsay MacDonald, asking his (Verigin’s) advice
concerning British foreign policy.

Early in January of 1930, from Brilliant, Peter sent telegrams to
his key followers in Saskatchewan commanding them to meet him
in Verigin. They were all there when he arrived, the nervously ex-
pectant Cazakoff, the fat Mahonin and others from the old Thun-
der Hill colony. In one of his most pleasant moods, he decreed
they should call a convention to m^e plans for an exodus to
Mexico.

“Dukhobors have been in Canada forty years, and that is too
long. We will not wait for the end of the ninety-nine-year lease.
We will go to Mexico, where we will all begin a new settlement.

318

SLAVA BOHU

Long enough have we kissed the hindquarters of the Englishmen
here.”

“What will we do with all the buildings in Canada, and lately
we have built so many new ones here ?” asked Cazakoff .

“Do you think we can put wings on them and fly them to
Mexico?” returned Peter. “No matter about the buil^ngs; sell
them, give them away to the poor.”

“Well,” offered Bonderoff, “Mexico is a warm country, a dif-
ferent place, and different buildings would be needed there, not
as expensive as in Canada.”

After several lewd jokes, he became emphatic, flourished his
fists, banged the table top, and commanded his commissars to
attend a convention in Canora, on January 10.

, At Canora, he passed a resolution that all Named Dukhobors
should migrate to Mexico, and he selected the delegates who
would go first to examine the land.

“Gafoel Verashagin will represent the Community, also Niki-
for Kootnekoff. Savely Churnoff will be my personal representa-
tive. Nikito Popoff, Vasili Novokshonoff, and Peter Kaminoff
will represent the Independents.” The Sons of Freedom were not
to be represented.

Gabriel Verashagin, he who had journeyed to Russia to fetch
Petushka to Cana^, was pleased with another far-off commis-
sion. Nikito Popoff was not enthusiastic. He had two sons in the
university at Saskatoon ; Bill who would graduate as a civil engi-
neer, John who would become a dentist, and Paul was to enter
next year. Besides he had almost 2,000 acres of land free of in-
debtedness, good machinery and $10,000 in the bank. “I cannot
think Canada is such a bad country to live in,” said Nikito. “I do
not know why I should go to Mexico, and it is possible that I
would not go there.”

There was uncomfortable silence. Someone coughed uneasily.
Bonderoff turned his head slowly from one side to the other, and
out of the comers of his eyes saw that Nikito had spoken for
most of the Independents.

Verigin jumped to his feet. “"Who said anything about better
land? Who said anything about more money to be made in
Mexico? It is for spiritual profits we leave Canada. Forty years
have we been here, and the time has come when we should move
again to clean our souls. We are the Israelites, the wanderers. We
are not the Pharisees and Scribes. It is not because I want you to
go, but when God tells me the time has come, I must tell you. If

WHITE HORSE TO MEXICO 319

I did not, I would be worse than a thousand devils with twisted
tails.”

When he saw that he had failed to arouse enthusiasm in the
Independents, he altered his course.

“Pravda, I tell you anyone who says he knows where the
Dukhobors will migrate, is nothing but a fool. Anyone who says
for certain it is Mexico is a liar; anyone who says it is South
America is twice a liar; anyone who says it is Russia is three
times a liar; and those who say we will stay here in Canada are
liars one hundred times.” Sweat trickled down his face, and with
such vigor and rh 3 rthm did he propound questions and make pro-
nouncements, that most of the audience fell under the spell as they
had so often done before. Knowing that Nikito Popoff favored a
degree of democracy in reaching decisions, he suggested a meet-
ing in the morning, when all proposals would be discussed and
decided upon.

He exploded only once during the next day and it was agreed
unanimously they should seek land in Mexico, though Nikito
Popoff and Vasili Novokshonoff would not commit themselves to
an unconditional exodus. A long list of instructions was compiled.
The representatives to Mexico were to inquire in detail concern-
ing : quality of soil, slope of the land, availability of water, rain-
fall, temperatures, health of the Mexicans, highway, river, railway
and ocean transportation to markets, price of farm products,
price of implements and clothing, velocity of winds, cyclones if
any, altitudes, timber for building, schools and education. Also,
the representatives must be certain to visit their old neighbors of
the Milky Waters, the Mennonites, take them Christian greetings
and note carefully how they liked the Mexican government. And
the Dukhobors must know in advance that they would not be
forced to fight in an army.

Early in February 1930, the representatives left Canada for
Mexico. Not later than April 1, they were to be in Brilliant where
Peter Petrovich Verigin would assemble a great convention to
hear their report.

Following Verigin’s instructions the delegates went first to St.
Paul, Minneapolis, where they met Senator Hackney and Philip
Ney. After being entertained by the land promoter and his aide
at a dinner where the food was ample and good, the whole party
boarded a train for Tampico, near where the first block of acreage,
on which Hackney had an option, was situated.

Though Ney, the Russian Jew, and Hackney, the United States

320

SLAVA BOHU

Senator, lauded this area, the Dukhobors found little good about
it. There were too many rocks, not enough water, no fanners,
“only a few Mexican landlords riding on horses and carrying
pistols in their belts; and some men riding on donkeys, and look-
ing like milinki Tartars.”

So the party went to the second property nearer Durango.
There the wells were only twelve feet deep, and in them was
enough water for horses and cattle, but not enough for irrigation.
The third real estate prospect in the mountain valleys lacked mois-
ture too, and there were icicles on the water barrels in the morn-
ings.

All these things and more, the Dukhobors noted but they said
little to Ney, who explained to Hackney that the Dukhobors were
enthusiastic about Mexico, but, being a stolid people, they did not
show their emotions. Suddenly, Gabriel Veraschagin, while agree-
ing with Nikito Popolf that there was not enough rain, became
convinced all the Dukhobors should move to Mexico to gain their
spiritual freedom.

“How do you expect to have spiritual freedom in a place where
Mexicans starve their donkeys and the Mennonites here tell us
they wish to return to Canada?” asked Nikito.

“But,” said Gabriel, “we are neither Mennonites nor Mexicans.”

“Sometimes I think we are worse than donkeys,” Nikito said
slowly.

Spring was in the air over the emerald river and green hills of
the Kootenays when in the last days of March the faithful by
hundreds prepared for the great meeting in Brilliant. There was
a feeling of excitement, a buoyancy as of spring itself. Within a
month &ey might be leaving Canada forever, going to a far-off
country where all would live happily as brothers and sisters. From
deep trunks and boxes in every village, women took out their fin-
est silk shawls and best embroidered aprons. They made the blue-
serge suits of their menfolk spotless; trimmed Ae heads of the
wondering boys; everywhere smoke rose from the chimneys of
the bathhouses.

In Brilliant village, where the meeting was to begin on the
morning of March 31, fifty delegates from Saskatchewan arrived
in a special railway coach. The representatives had returned from
Mexico. Even Senator Hackney, hopeful but puzzled, felt the
holiday atmosphere, especially after Verigin assured him any op-
position to the Mexican land deal would be overcome.

Soon after sunrise, several thousand filled the courtyard by the

WHITE HORSE TO MEXICO

321

jam factory. Among the waiting Community people, there was an
undercurrent of perplexity about why a few hundred Sons of
Freedom were there. “Who told them to come? . . . We thought
they would not be here. . . . Will they torment us with their antics ?
What does Petushka think?” Whether Peter Verigin had invited
them to the meeting within the shadow of his father’s tomb, or
whether he had warned them to stay away, was not known.

All who could find standing room squeezed themselves into the
meeting hall, while shawled women and bareheaded men stood in
a V-shaped wedge, filling the sunlit yard. Inside, on the platform,
was the traditional white-clothed table with its loaf of bread, bowl
of salt and jug of water. When the psalm in song ended, those
who could extricate their handkerchiefs wiped the sweat from
their faces. Petushka stepped up on the platform, Bonderoff at
his heels.

He greeted the people in the conventional way. Slava Bohu
rumbled from their throats, but there was not room to kneel and
touch foreheads to the floor. Bonderoff, like a secretary of state,
sat with his fountain pen in hand at a table covered with papers.

“Brothers and sisters,” began Verigin, sonorously, “on this
beautiful day we are gathered here in the Spirit of Christ. Today,
great things will be decided; tomorrow yet greater things. Who
among us can say it is not so, when our destiny is in the hands of
God?

“The Community people live in communal houses and that is
as it should be. The Independents live on separate farms, yet they
are still our brothers . . . one great family of Dukhobors faithfully
serving Christ.

“Sons of Freedom sometimes show their nakedness as a protest
to unchristian civilization, materialism, profiteering, war, and
exploitation of other people’s labor. There will always be parasites
in the world, those who do no good, those who live from the
sweat and labor of others. But Dukhobors must never be exploited
or exploit anyone. It was not for nothing that I rode the revolu-
tionary horse in Russia and found out all about international
politics.

“Some Dukhobors are liars and adulterers, but they are not true
Dukhobors. Some Dukhobors are in business for themselves, but
they are not Dukhobors. Hypocrites and Pharisees who think
they can save themselves by living apart from the brothers, amass-
ing fortunes which will be swept away in the catastrophe rushing
toward us. . . .

322

SLAVA BOHU

“New spiritual light is necessary, new land is necessary . . . new
faith. If the new land is faraway, what did Christ say? Have
faith and everything is possible. Have as much faith as a grain
of mustard seed and move a whole mountain.” With vigorous
correlation of words and gestures he held them.

What he could have made of himself in politics, if only English
were his native tongue, thoi^ht Senator Hackney, shaking off the
momentary conviction that a truly great religious leader was
st anding on the platform before him. The senator, with Ney on
one side and Morris Chutorian on the other, was receiving in
whispers choice interpretations of this and that resounding phrase.

“Oh, it is unforttmate today,” whispered Ney, his large eyes
popping more than usual, “that you, Hackney, caimot understand
Russian.”

“Yes, you are missing something. I’m telling you,” said Chu-
torian. “Now he’s reminding them of the great woman leader in
Russia, Ltikeria Vasilivna Kalmikova. She . . .”

“Look,” wondered Hackney, aloud. “What on earth is that be-
hind him?”

Ney, taking his nose from Hackney’s ear, looked up at the
platform, and his eyes protruded further than ever. Standing
quietly behind Petushka, with arms folded, were three naked
women. They had come from behind unnoticed.

“How did they get there, and why are they there?” asked
Hackney, still staring in astonishment.

“Shh,” Ney whispered. “Say nothing. They might go away
again.” And his irrepressible humor welling up, he said in Yiddish
to Chutorian : “If they should go away just like they came, we
can tell Hackney that they were a backdrop, a part of the scenery.”

At that moment two naked men and another nude woman
joined the others. The entire audience saw them now; Peter de-
tected something too, and his oratory lost some of its power. Bon-
deroff, who had divided his eyes between the naked ones and
Petushka, started in his chair when Verigin, stopping in the mid-
dle of a phrase, turned around to see the Sons of Freedom.

“So ! This is what you do ! Disrupt our peaceful meeting in the
Spirit of Christ — Oh, why is it you follow me everywhere to tor-
ment me?” he shoutei “You vile reptiles, you snakes in the grass,
you sons of bitches ! . . .”

As he imleashed a torrent of profanity, more naked ones joined
the others, stoding there with half-vacuous, half-interested looks
on their stolid faces and a gleam of triumph in their eyes.

WHITE HORSE TO MEXICO

323

“You whores and bastards of the black hundreds, you have
ruined me!” He turned violently to the audience, ordered it to
disperse, and, with the air of a fabulous ringmaster who has just
brought the closing act of his circus to an abortive conclusion,
stalked from the platform and out of the hall.

There was an anxious buzz of voices. The sons and daughters
found their clothes, and dressed. Still astonished, Hackney asked
Ney numerous questions. “Why hadn’t the other Dukhobors made
the fanatic Dukhobors dress before ? Why did Verigin walk away
like that, dismissing the meeting before it had a chance to hear
the report of the representatives to Mexico? . . .”

Ney did his best to console the senator, eventually telling him
it was of no consequence, as Mr. Verigin was a very tempera-
mental man, and that such demonstrations temporarily upset him
to such an extent he was unable to continue right away with the
business. “But everything will be all right. No harm has been
done.”

From his residence, Peter Verigin sent word that Hackney,
Ney, Chutorian, and several others should be his guests for a
meal.

Before they sat down to the table, Hackney questioned Verigin,
through Ney. Ney, who was being reimbursed by both men, did
his best to soften the situation. An open break would mean the
finish of his income from that source and the end of his grandiose
scheme of migration and real estate which, he hoped, would bring
him several hundred thousand dollars.

“The Mexican government will never let those fanatics in,” said
Hackney, shaking his head and thinking of the money he had
spent to promote the exodus.

“Mr. Verigin says you are right, Senator. He knows the Mexi-
can government does not want fanatics. He intends to leave them
in Canada.”

“But why did he let them come to the meeting? He must have
known they were here, and even though he says he has no control
over them, he could have told his Community people to keep them
away.”

As Verigin insisted on having everjihing translated, Ney’s
head was turning from side to side, alternate streams of English
and Russian issuing from his generous mouth.

“Verigin says that he was not fooled by the Sons of Freedom.
He knew they were here. He expected they would torment him.
He allowed them to, because it was the best way of reminding the

324

SLAVA BOHU

other Dukhobors what the fanatics are like. Otherwise the Com-
munity people and Independents might have become softhearted
at the meeting today and invited the mad brothers to accompany
them to Mexico. You see, Dukhobors are a very hard-working
people, simple and kindly, but they have to be handled carefully,
and Mr. Verigin well knows how to do this so it will be best for
all of us.”

Hackney seemed partly convinced with the logic of this, though
he suspected some of it was Ney’s. Brightening up a bit, the blue-
ness left his lips. He walked toward Verigin and shook hands.

That evening, Verigin ordered a private conference among the
Dukhobor representatives to Mexico and certain of the Named
Dukhobor officials. They were to prepare a report which he would
receive in the morning. Even the Community representatives were
not enthusiastic about Mexico. But while they hedged, hoping not
to have to commit themselves, Nikito Popoff and Vasili Novok-
shonoff, the Independents, spoke out against the scheme. The
land was not good; there were too many months of the year with-
out rain; the country looked wild; the Mexicans did not wash
often enough. Moreover, they did not trust the Mexican govern-
ment.

When next morning they appeared before him to give their re-
port, he waved it aside and upbraided them for wasting his time
and money.

“All these days you have been here, and I have not yet seen the
report? You say it is here now, but how can I believe you? How
can I trust you even that much, you whom I sent to Mexico to
find land for the toiling people ? And now all you can think of is
to betray everyone and say the land is not suitable. Is it that you
are cheats? You have made a deal with someone to buy the land,
knowing that it is the best land in the world, and you are trying
to hide that fact from myself and the people? You, delegates?
You liars, you saboteurs,” he roared.

Attracted by the commotion, Hackney came in with Ney and
Chutorian. Verigin abruptly ceased his torrent.

“What was he saying?” asked Hackney of Ney.

“I think he said that some of the delegates were tr3dng to
double-cross him. They knew the land was so valuable at that
price, they wanted to make a deal on the side,” said Ney.

VCTigin now ordered the representatives, “Named,” and Com-
munity officials, to go to the meeting hall where the Mexican re-
port would be given to the people. Word of this spread rapidly

WHITE HORSE TO MEXICO

325

through the courtyard, and in a few minutes the hall was packed ;
a larger crowd than on the day before assembled outside. The
Community people had already heard that their representatives
were not enthusiastic about Mexico. The report at the meeting
confirmed these rumors, but it did not mean a great deal, for most
would follow Petushka anyway. The report, however, kept Ney
very busy interpreting it in the best possible light to Hackney.

Peter sent instructions that the Named Dukhobors should elect
a central executive committee, and toward the end of this business
he appeared at the meeting.

“Go on with the business,” he said pleasantly. “I do not wish
to interrupt such important proceedings,” sitting down on a bench
where several had made room for him.

The meeting resumed, hesitantly. John Bonderoff’s election as
secretary of the Society of Named Dukhobors of Canada, at a
salary of $130 a month and traveling expenses, was confirmed.

Petushka, leaning over to one of the Community men, whis-
pered something in his ear. The man got up and went out of the
hall.

A few minutes later, about twelve well-known Sons of Free-
dom, men and women, with their clothes on, entered the hall and
stood facing Verigin.

He glowered at them.

No one was paying attention to the business now; all eyes were
on Petushka and the sons and daughters. There was silence.
Then, without taking his yellow-gray eyes from the little group,
he stood up.

“Why are you here to torment me?” he asked the Sons of
Freedom.

“We are not here to torment anyone. We come with a message
of brotherly and sisterly love,” answered amber-bearded Ivan.

“When I do not want your messages, why do you insist on
using force to make me accept them?” reiterated Verigin in a
low-pitched and even tone.

“We do not believe in force, but are we our brother’s keeper?”
asked one of the women.

“It is not possible to answer one question with another,” said
Verigin, adding that “only a clucking hen would do that.”

“It is not possible to say whether the hen came before the egg
or not. Even the greatest scientists have not found out such things,”
retorted one of them.

This baffling conversation continued, to the intense interest of

326

SLAVA BOHU

everyone in the crowded hall and the audience outside which filled
the doorways and pressed closer to the windows. In the intervals
between questions and answers, there were no sounds other than
Ney’s whispered translations to Hackney, and an occasional
shiiSling of a foot when Verigin propounded an especially diffi-
cult conundrum.

“What do you mean when you say that private property should
be abolished?” he asked.

“All ownership of property should be abolished, and no one
must exploit the labor of another on the land. There should be no
rent, no taxes, no — ”

“But we must pay for the land and pay the taxes so we can
grow food to feed you who will pay no taxes or rent. In this way
you use force on the Community people.”

“We do not look on it as force, dear Petushka. We love you,
and we wish to help the Community people to see the light. We
are the ringing bells, the scouts on the hilltops, clearing the way
for true freedom.”

“What kind of freedom is it when you take off your clothes
and force us to look at you in your nakedness?” he asked sharply.

There was a pause fraught with impending danger.

“Skoro, quickly,” Verigin commanded impatiently, “tell me!”

Two began answering at once. “It is not right,” Vasili said,
“that we shotdd try to hide anything, not even our bodies. God
made our bodies, and he sees through the clothes of every man
and woman. When we undress in public we are helping our
brothers and sisters destroy false feelings of shame.”

“And so we are fulfilling God’s law,” added another.

“But I tell you more than one hundred times that we do not
want your help,” Verigin raised his voice. “We ask you to go
away and give us our freedom,” he shouted. “You tormentors,
provocateurs, foul vipers and bastards.” He stepped closer to
them.

“You are losing your temper and cursing. That is wrong. But
we are turning our other ear ” ,

Whatever else Ivan had to say was drowned by a torrent of pro-
fanity from Verigin who, dancing like an enraged genie, swung
his fists, flailing tilie sons left and right.

They stood there, some trying to shield themselves from his
heavy blows.

A trembling woman shrieked, “Christ said, ‘Turn the other
cheek.’ "

WHITE HORSE TO MEXICO 327

Dunia, his old mother, who had seen it all from the beginning,
shouted at him to stop.

Mahonin tried to intervene. “Please, please Petushka they sire
punished enough now.”

But Petushka answered the elephantine Mahonin by hitting him
so hard that he fell backwards over a bench.

Some of the spectators now pushed their way through front
and back doors, a few climbing out of the windows. But the hall
seemed as congested as ever, fresh Sons of Freedom appearing
from somewhere and standing in front of Petushka in his wrath.

Still more Sons of Freedom came, until Peter was confronted
with almost a hundred. Those who had received a few blows
retired to the center of the assemblage, and unscatched ones pas-
sively presented themselves.

Sweat dripping from his red face, lungs working like bellows,
Verigin was becoming exhausted, and two young Community
men stepped forward to help him. The Community “huskies” hit
the mart3nrs, but seeing this had small effect, they picked up one
son and thrust him through the nearest window. More Community
men joined the melee, pushing the Sons of Freedom to the door-
ways, pulling stubborn ones along by their beards. Still no Son
of Freedom struck back.

Outside, in the midst of the milling courtyard, the bull-like
roars of Peter Verigin now rose above the noise of scuffling feet
and crying women.

“Chase them away forever,” he shrieked. “Throw the foul
vipers over the fence.”

The Community men in action, now outnumbering the passive
Sons of Freedom, lifted them over the brick wall between the
jam factory and the railway track. Within twenty minutes, a few
hundred Sons of Freedom, men and women, all who had been in
the courtyard, were standing in a disheveled group on the railway
track. There was a defiant pride about most of them, as, singing
a mournful h3nnn, they walked slowly down the track.

From the people in the courtyard came loud sobbing and peni-
tent remarks.

“Oh, it is terrible,” wailed a woman, her eyes red-rimmed with
crying. “And we are all supposed to be brothers and sisters in
Christ!”

“But what could be done?” shrugged Nekefor, her husband.
“Is it right they should always take their clothes off in public, al-
ways argue, alwa3rs make trouble?"

328

SLAVA BOHU

“Well,” said a Grand Forks man in a troubled voice, “they are
not right, but I do not think our people should treat them so. It
is not right to use force.” There were tears in his eyes, and he
looked faint and miserable.

Verigin had disappeared, leaving the people standing around
in dejected knots. The vanquished sons and daughters had passed
out of sight down the railway track, but waves of their melan-
choly hymn floated back to the couiiyard.

Hadmey, thoroughly amazed, listened to Ney’s explanations,
as both men searched for Verigin. They found him in his resi-
dence, sitting at a table with his head in his hands, bemoaning the
heavy task allotted him by God.

“I, Chestiakov, the purger. It all hurts me more than it could
possibly hurt the Sons of Freedom,” he said. “But now it is done,
everything will be all right. They will bother us no more. They will
stay in Canada while we will go to Mexico.”

Half-pleased, half-doubting, Hackney shook hands with Verigin
and hoped for the best for his real estate deal.

There was a knock at the door. Bonderoff, Mahonin and two
or three more Named Dukhobor officials bowed their way in. They
had come to inform Petushka that the people were feeling very
sad.

“It is always the same, they bring their trouble to me,” Verigin
sighed. “I have so many worries now that I suppose I can stand
one more. Tell them to assemble for a meeting and in ten minutes
I will speak to them.”

Word of another meeting spread among the people. They
formed themselves without enthusiasm into the conventional v.
Verigin kept them waiting only a quarter of an hour. In deep,
soothing tones he reminded them of the mysterious ways of God,
the trials and tribulations which beset the true pathway of all good
Christians. With tears in his eyes he said how sorry he was to
have to do certain tasks. In Caucasia once he had had a beautiful
saddle horse. One day that horse ate too much grain and swelled
up bigger than a water buffalo.

“I knew my good horse might swell and swell until the wind
from the grain inside him would press on his heart and he would
die. What to do? Sorrowfully, but with firm hand, I made a hole
in him with a shaip instrument. The wind blew out of his belly.
His body shrank to the proper size and always afterwards he
thanked me.

“Yet we know grain is very good for a horse in a physical way.

WHITE HORSE TO MEXICO

329

just as ideas are very good for humans in a spiritual way. But
when too many ideas ferment in the heads of men and women, it
becomes sadly necessary to knock those heads together.”

Already, faces and spirits of the faithful were uplifted. And
when, after more parables, and quotations from the New Testa-
ment, he declared a holiday of two weeks for everyone, their
hearts were filled with joy. He would pay all the expenses. All
the Community trucks and automobiles would be at the disposal
of his guests. There would be visiting, singing, picnics and meet-
ings throughout Brilliant and Grand Forks colonies.

Next morning, with Petushka leading the procession in the
Community’s newest automobile, the happy throng left Brilliant
and moved westward along the highway to Prekrasnia village, ten
miles away. There were about twenty cars and fifteen trucks,
followed by horse-drawn vehicles, behind which walked a few
hundred men.

With Verigin in the leading car, rode Senator Hackney, Ney
and Morris Chutorian. Happy h3anns rose from the cavalcade
as it wound its way slowly along the mountain road. At Prekrasnia
there was more singing, and much eating.

The holiday, which consisted of visiting one village after an-
other, ended before the expiration of the time allotted. The crowd
had dwindled to a few hundred by the end of the first week, prob-
ably due to Peter’s absence from gatherings and the innate in-
dustry of the Community and Independent people.

Verigin visited Independent Dukhobors of the kind who, while
not believing in him, enjoyed his profane artistry and with whom
he could freely drink whisky, smoke cigarettes and eat meat, with
embarrassment to no one. The Hackney party left for the East,
Hackney returning to the United States, where he launched the
International Colonization Corporation and later sold shares in
the Dukhobor-Mexican real estate scheme.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

FIRE FANATICS

BUT THE SONS OF FREEDOM continued in their rest-
lessness. On June 16, a band left Porto Rico, with the intention
of entering the United States to search for the promised land.
Turned back at the border town of Tadanac, they treked north,
and led by Paul Vatkin, disappeared into the mountains west of
Nelson.

Scattered outbreaks of nudity continued in the Kootenays, and
the British Columbia provincial police, at a loss to know how to
stop them, ordered itching powder of the kind advertised in novelty
and “play a joke on your friends” catalogues. When on June 22,
fifteen men and women undressed in the presence of Constable
Ralph Macintosh — ^they had been excluded from a Community
meeting in Brilliant — the constable experimented with it. Rubber
gloves on his hands, he dusted powder on them. They stood mo-
tionless, arms folded, watching him, but saying nothing. Scripni-
koff, the Ukrainian convert to the Sons of Freedom, stood stolidly
with his wife and twenty-four-year-old daughter. The last in the
line was a thin middle-aged woman with pancake-like breasts.
When Macintosh applied the finely ground powder to her, she
suddenly unfolded her arms, hit his hand, and sent a shower of
powder down his neck. Some of those first sprayed were reluc-
tantly scratching themselves, and Macintosh, who knew Russian,
heard them talking of “Satan’s tricks.” “It wasn’t a great success,”
he afterwards remarked laconically, and the es^jeriment was not
repeated.

Outbreaks of incendiarism began next. Sawmills and schools
mysteriously burned to the ground; a brick schoolhouse was partly
demolished by dynamite. Sons of Freedom were suspected, but
police were unable to apprehend them. Community Dukhobors,
posted as guards around the buildings, either were unable to iden-
tify the culprits, or, in their traditional antipathy towards police-
men and soldiers, would not do so. Verigin, accusing the police
of incompetence, appealed to the government for protection for
the Community's properly.

330

FIRE FANATICS

331

In November, Verigin received another $2,000 with a letter
from Hackney. The money, the senator said, was to help defray
the expenses of another delegation to examine land in Mexico.

On February 8, 1931, Morris Chutorian, in a letter to Verigin,
said that he had arranged for one hundred Jewish families to
settle near the Dukhobors in Mexico. Verigin replied that he was
pleased the Jews and the Dukhobors would be neighbors, and
added that he required a further $3,000 from Senator Hackney
in order to send a delegation of Dukhobors to Berlin, in cormection
with the release of 10,000 “Named Dukhobors” from Russia.
They, too, wished to emigrate to Mexico, but arrangements must
be made with the Soviet government. Hackney, still selling shares
in his Mexican scheme, wrote that he would send $3,000 within
a few days.

In Brilliant, about one o’clock in the morning of April 24, a
detonation awakened the sleeping village. The villagers, dressing
hurriedly, went with lanterns to find Peter Verigin’s tomb tom by
explosive. The superstructure was shattered, the two marble pil-
lars, the two white marble doves of peace and the sheaves of wheat,
lay in a broken heap. A fragment of marble had hurtled through
a window of a building eighty feet away. When the police ar-
rived from Nelson they said dynamite had been used. Stroigoff,
the Dukhobor guard who had left the tomb at midnight, admitted
that six weeks previously, six sticks of d)mamite had been found
in the tomb.

While the police searched for the perpetrators, Dukhobors gos-
siped that the government may have blown up old Peter’s tomb,
“just like they blew him up in the railway coach.”

On June 20, Paul Vatkin, the Son of Freedom, was arrested
again. He had refused to give information to the census taker.
“I have no name,” he told Eli Kidd, the enumerator. “I am a
son of God, and as such, a name is not necessary. I have no age
because I am an eternal son of God, and years do not count in
God’s eternity.” Vatkin was sentenced to three months on Okalla
prison farm.

Five more schoolhouses had been burned to the ground in the
Dukhobor districts of Saskatchewan, and two others set on fire
in May.

In Blaine Lake district, about 5 :30 on a Sunday morning, No-
vember 15, Frank Steger’s wife shouted frantically to her hus-
band, “Frank, get up ! Ever 3 rthing is light outside, and the house
is burning.”

332

SLAVA BOHU

Peter Dyck, their hired man, a Mennonite, was first outside.
The Steger farmhouse, however, was not on fire, but the school-
house, a few 3 rards away, was a mass of flames. A general tele-
phone ring brought neighboring Independent Dukhobors to the
fire. Bill ^baroff, chairman of the River Hill School Board, and
several others arrived within fifteen or twenty minutes, but the
school was too far gone to save.

Light snow had fallen during the night, and footprints showed,
leading north from the school. Dyck observed that whoever had
made 3iem had tried to step in the same tracks when he retreated.
He and Kabaroff followed the tracks to Perehudoff’s gate, where
there were horse tracks in the snow as well. It looked as if a horse
had been tied to the fence, and that the man who made the foot-
prints had mounted the horse and ridden away at a gallop.

The trackers borrowed a flashlight from Perehudoff and fol-
lowed the horse tracks. When they had gone about a mile from
the burning school, they met Max and Peter Stupnikoff in a car.
The Stupnikoff boys agreed to participate in following the tracks.
Dyck lay on one fender and Kabaroff on the other, the better to
see the tracks.

The trail led to Eli Podovinikoff’s yard, where it was lost
among many hoof marks. There was a light in Podovinikoff’s
house. They had to knock four times before there was an answer,
in a woman’s thin voice. Eli Podovinikoff’s wife looked fright-
ened and nervous.

“What’s the matter ?” asked one of her sons in English.

“The school burned down,” Elabaroff said.

“Oh, that’s too bad. When did it happen?”

“Just half an hour ago,” Kabaroff answered.

“We followed a man’s tracks and then horse tracks from the
school to your yard,” added Dyck, and asked if they could see
everyone’s boots or rubbers.

“Sure,” Peter Podovinikoff answered. “Come upstairs.”

They followed him to where his brother Joe sat up in bed,
rubbing his eyes as if he had just awakened from a long sleep.

“What are you looking for?” asked Joe. He was admittedly a
Son of Freedom, and had been to British Columbia that year.

“We want to look at your rubbers,” said Dyck.

The rubbers were wet, and Pete’s moccasins had unmelted snow
and damp manure on them, and he admitted he had been out of
the house that morning.

When the searchers left the Podovinikoff house, they followed

FIRE FANATICS

333

tracks leading across the field to Stupnikoff’s. Then they returned
to the site of the schoolhouse and waited for the police, who, con-
tinuing the investigation, arrested the two Podovinikoff boys,
Joe and Pete, and Bill Stupnikoff.

At the trial in King's Bench Court, Prince Albert, in 1932, Pete
Podovinikoff was freed, but Joe Podovinikolf and Bill Stupnikoff
were adjudged guilty, though they both pleaded not guilty, were
represented by counsel, and refused to testify in court. The evi-
dence was circumstantial.

Chief Justice Brown, in passing sentence, referred to twenty-
five schoolhouses having been burned in Dukhobor districts in
Saskatchewan during the last three years.

“You have been found guilty of burning down the schoolhouse
in your community, by twelve of your fellow citizens," said Judge
Brown. “I have had Dukhobor schoolteachers and a Dukhobor
lawyer before me as witnesses, and I have found them very in-
telligent. Your action is not inherent in Dukhobor nationality.
But a number of your people, I unfortunately have to conclude,
are capable of endeavoring to destroy the institution that would
enlighten you. One marvels at the futility; one wonders you do
not realize that from the ashes of every schoolhouse a better
schoolhouse arises. . . . The sentence of the court is that you,
Bill, be imprisoned in Saskatchewan Penitentiary for a term of
two years, and you, Joe, be imprisoned for four years."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

PERJURY AND PIERS ISLAND

IN FEBRUARY 1932, Verigin went to Winnipeg where he
met Hackney, arrived from St. Paul. Again, reports of huge
land deals and Dukhobor migrations were printed in the news-
papers. Negotiations were under way, Verigin told the Canadian
Press on March 2, to settle 50,000 Dukhobors from Europe on
1,000,000 acres of land in Colombia, South America. J. M. Hack-
ney was negotiating for this land on their behalf. In Winnipeg,
Dukhobor officials and agents were in conference with delegates
from Germany, Czechoslovakia, Turkey and other countries.

Verigin was invariably entertained by newspaper stories such
as these. As an interpreter read them aloud, he sat with half-
closed eyes, shoulders shaking with laughter at the many fools
believing his statements. On occasions, in frenzied conviction, he
believed his fabrications. In one interview, he told newspaper
reporters that, far from having any intention of leaving Canada,
he was purchasing additional land, building more grain elevators
for the people and developing water power in Dukhobor settle-
ments. The facts were, however, that grain elevators in Dukhobor
districts were being burned to the ground ; that recently the Com-
munity elevator and mill at Verigin had mysteriously gone up in
smoke, and the faithful Dukhobors of Saskatcliewan and else-
where were still using kerosene lamps. Cazakoff, that painstak-
ingly careful bookkeeper, computed the Community fire loss, for
the year 1932, at $335,143.12,

The economic depression, which in 1932 lay heavily over the
North American continent, reduced the Community’s income from
grain, fruit, vegetables, jam, lumber and wage labor. Diminished
returns, Verigin’s chaotic direction of affairs, his personal ex-
travagance, and the increasing nonproduction of the Sons of
Freedom, combined to put the Christian Community of Universal
Brotherhood Limited in the most precarious financial position
since its inception. Even the business diligence of Cazakoff, Shu-
kin, and other officials could not offset the general economic
inanity. For wheat that year was to bring the lowest price since

334

PERJURY AND PIERS ISLAND

335

sod had first been turned on the prairies ; and fruit from the fertile
valleys of British Columbia was to be dumped in the Fraser River.

Verigin, as if unconsciously parodying the economic travesty,
continued to drain the Dukhobor treasury for an 3 rthing from
speculation in the wheat market to gambling at cards, all the while
urging his followers to work harder and live yet more frugally.

Recently he had developed a liking for lawsuits. At his com-
mand, in 1932, the Christian Community of Universal Brother-
hood Limited had sued George Chutskoflf, once a Community
member, who had received legal title to his farm. But Verigin
insisted that ChutskofiF still owed $1,000 to the Community, and
that he had inadvertently been given the title without having paid
this amount.

Chutskoff’s lawyer, in Yorkton Court House, was certain
that his client had paid ever 3 rthing, and the reason that the full
amount could not be accounted for on paper was simply that
Chutskoif had paid a sum to Verigin in cash. Verigin, in turn,
said that such a thing was impossible. How could he have received
money from ChutskoflF when he, Verigin, was not even in Sas-
katchewan? He declared that, from July, 1928, to March, 1929,
he had lived continuously in Brilliant, British Columbia. Chief
Justice Brown, the same judge who sentenced the two Sons of
Freedom found guilty of burning River Hill schoolhouse, gave
judgment in favor of Chutskoff. Thus Verigin lost the lawsuit.

But Verigin, who was ever being advised to enter lawsuits,
laid information for perjury against Chutskoff, in January, 1932.
Verigin accused Chutskoff of having perjured himself in court,
and insisted that he owed the $1,000 to the toiling people. Chuts-
koff was arrested, released on bail, and ordered to appear at the
May sittings of court in Yorkton.

This was the beginning. Someone laid information against
Verigin in connection with the first Chutskoff case. Thus, Royal
Canadian Mounted Police arrested Peter Verigin on a diarge of
attempting tinlawfully to dissuade Vasili Konkin from giving evi-
dence in the original Community suit against Chutskoff. Peter
Kobnotoff, a Community member and uncle of Konkin, slashed
his throat with a razor, thereby making himself unable to appear
as a witness.

Further complicating proceedings for the nonlegal mind,
J. A. M. Patrick, K. C, Yorkton lawyer, first undertook to de-
fend Chutskoff at the preliminary hearing, then switched to the
defense of Verigin. The upshot of these mad-hatter proceedings

336

SLAVA BOHU

was curious. At the final hearings of both cases in King’s Bench
Court, Chutskoff was found not guilty of perjury; Peter Verigin
was found guilty of perjury. He was duly sentenced to three years
imprisonment in Saskatchewan Penitentiary at Prince Albert.

The several hundred faithful, who had waited in Yorkton for
the outcome of the trial, returned to their farms, there to talk of
the terrible way the Canadian government was persecuting their
leader. Even in Blaine Lake district. Independents met to con-
sider turning their horses and cattle loose and abandoning their
farms, if the government would not release their leader.

His imprisonment was followed by numerous “persecution”
tales in British Columbia, which added to the economic and spir-
itual confusion among the Dukhobors there. Besides, it was
spring, a season of restlessness and inspiration, and the combina-
tion of factors proved too much for hundreds of Sons of Free-
dom who had been ejected from, or who had voluntarily left.
Community lands. Before the end of April, they began converging
on the village of Thrums, three miles west of Brilliant. In an
orchard gay with blossoms they held mournful meetings, talked
of the promised land, God, and Peter Verigin. On a sunny day
in early May, a huni'ed men and women disrobed beneath the
apple trees. They were arrested and taken to Nelson for trial. On
the following Sunday, more than one hundred others undressed
in protest of the arrest of their brothers and sisters. This second
group was promptly arrested and taken in trucks to Nelson.

Attorney Generd R. H. Pooley announced he was prepared to
arrest five or six thousand Dukhobors, if necessary. “We are de-
termined to settle the Dukhobor problem once and for all, and
if imprisonment is the only means of ending the long series of
outrages, we will adopt it,” he declared.

On May 15, two hundred and fifty-four more men and women
were arrested for appearing nude in the orchard. There were five
hundred and eleven adults living in tents and temporary build-
ings surrounded by a barbwire enclosure in Nelson jailjrard. Two
hundred and forty-seven had been sentenced to three years in
penitentiary; the remainder awaited trial; still more Dukhobors
undressed and were brought to prison.

The case of Dasha Rq)in was interesting; she was a bright
young waitress in the Proctor Hotel, forty miles from Thrums.
Efficient at her work, well regarded by the management and guests,
she suddenly left her work, undressed with the others, was arrested
and sentenced to three years. Another case was that of a young

PERJURY AND PIERS ISLAND

337

man who had the day before bought a car. He was driving along
the highway near Thrums when he saw a nude band of Sons of
Freedom in an orchard. He joined them, undressed, and was
arrested.

Throughout the wholesale trials, when Illarion Spielmans, court
interpreter, made the charge of being nude known to the prisoners,
nearly all answered “Pravda” (true), thereby pleading guilty;
but many added that they had only broken a man-made law — ^not
God’s law. One old lady insisted she had not been naked, she was
“married to Christ,” had “worn the bridal clothes.”

Nelson town was filled with Community Dukhobors not under
arrest who talked of leaving Canada forever, bemoaned the perse-
cution of Petushka and “our brothers and sisters.”

Though both husbands and wives had, in the majority of cases
of married men and women sentenced, appeared nude simultan-
eously or soon afterwards, there were instances of only a husband
having done so, or only a wife. Among several women heavy with
child was Jean Zarubin who, taken from the Nelson prison camp
to Kootenay Lake General Hospital on May 19, on the day fol-
lowing gave birth to a son. Similarly, to Fannie Storgoif a daugh-
ter, Mary, was bom.

During the latter half of May, nude men and women were
arrested in two’s and three’s, taken to Nelson and sentenced to
three years each. Early in June, a group of sixty-nine undressed,
were arrested and sentenced In the barbwire enclosure at Nelson,
however, the prisoners did not attempt to tmdress.

Now what was to be done? There was not enough accommoda-
tion for the six hundred adults in the British Columbia Peniten-
tiary at New Westminster, with the result that they became a
problem for the Federal department of justice. The ctdldren who
had appeared nude, and the children of parents sentenced, pre-
sented another problem. There were three hundred and six, rang-
ing in age from one year to seventeen years. The authorities left
suckling babes with their mothers; small children were sent to
homes and orplianages on the Pacific coast, while the older boys
were taken to the Boys’ Industrial School at Coquitlan. The men
and women were loaded in Canadian Pacific Railway coaches and
transported five hundred miles west to Okalla prison farm, at Van-
couver. Here, women were housed in one wing of the prison, while
the men were placed in another.

Only a few of the leaders, Paul Vatkin, Peter Maloff, and
several other zealots were confined in cells. The great majority

338

SLAVA BOHU

slept on a sea of mattresses covering the floors of the two dormi-
tories. With their coming, the prison became overcrowded. Con-
sequently, the authorities procured Piers Island, a small island in
the Pacific, two miles off Sidney, Vancouver Island.

In August the buildings of Piers Island Penitentiary were
begun. Barbwire twenty feet in height was strung around the
two enclosures. Dormitories, dining halls, kitchens and washrooms
were built of shiplap and tar paper, in each of the two compounds.
In the dormitories two rows of double bunks were built.

There was one entrance to the men’s compound, and one to the
women’s; each consisted of wooden gates reinforced with steel
mesh, wide enough for a motor truck to enter, and opened by a
lever, which a guard operated from a platform above.

On a November evening, 1932, in a dusk, grayer than the paint
on the penitentiary buildings, the 5". 5". Princess Mary brought the
first group of thirty women to their island prison. It was damp and
cold in the dormitory, because there was no firewood. Some thirty
men prisoners, who had preceded the women, had refused to cut
firewood, “because we will not do the work of the government.”
More prisoners of both sexes arrived, and still the men refused
to cut firewood. Throughout raw nights they trotted back and
forth to keep warm. Gradually however, one dormitory after an-
other surrendered, and the men cut wood for the stoves.

Next they refused to carry their vegetables up from the wharf,
again saying they would not do the work of the government.

Warden Cooper, who was in charge of the new Piers Island
Penitentiary, was almost as passive as were the Sons of Freedom.
Should a guard strike one of the prisoners, he should be dismissed
instantly, the warden ordered.

“Many of these people are anxious to become martyrs,” War-
den Cooper told his staff. “Some of them would welcome the sort
of a lashing their fathers and mothers received from the Cossacks
in Russia. We are not going to accommodate them to that extent.
Just tell them that if they want to eat they can carry their food
up from the wharf and prepare it in accord with prison discipline,
or they may leave it where it is and go hungry.”

After the stubborn sons had eaten the last of their oatmeal
and water, they asked the guards to escort them to the wharf, so
that they could carry their vegetables to the kitchens.

In other ways the “battle” of passive resistance went on monot-
onously from week to week throughout the rainy, foggy winter.
At first the women objected to washing their clothes in the great

PERJURY AND PIERS ISLAND

339

washroom of the women’s compound. But, assured that it was
their privilege to be dirty if they wished, their traditional Dukho-
bor cleanliness overcame their obstinacy, and soon the four dormi-
tories were vying with one another for permission to use the
washroom. Eiach dormitory was allowed exclusive use of the
washroom one day a week, and many tales were invented for ob-
taining it oftener. A heated tank supplied water for the ten
showers and thirty tubs. Avoiding the showers at first, the women
preferred to bathe in the tubs, and it was while bathing and drub-
bing at their washboards that they sang their happiest h 3 mins.
Most of the sons, on their arrival, had beards in various stages
of growth, and hair that had not been cut for months. They
allowed themselves to be sheared like sheep.

Prison routine, with more than ordinary privileges, was similar
in both compounds. The day began at 6 rSO in the morning, when
“kitchen gangs” of fifteen to twenty were admitted to the kitch-
ens. They arranged their own kitchen gangs, changing them every
four days ; and they arranged their own menus from the prison
stores.

Borsch invariably for breakfast; raw vegetables at every meal,
cabbage finely shredded, carrots, onions and potatoes. A few
zealots, stubbornly refusing to eat cooked food, upbraided the less
conscientious brothers and sisters who did. There were plenty of
dried fruits, applies, prunes, apricots and raisins. There was so
much to eat, and so little work, that some suffered from indiges-
tion.

Once a week Doctor Watson came from “King’s Hospital,”
Duncan. Though they had so often declared themselves against
doctors and medicine, many of the sons and daughters stood in
line to see him, some of them because they had not enough to
occupy themselves. It was a rule of the penitentiary that no re-
quest to see the doctor be disallowed, and thus the sick parade
was a long one. The doctor found diagnosis difficult, and medical
history hard to obtain, because the patients insisted on asking
him endless questions, and previous ailments were invariably at-
tributed to imprisonment and “harsh persecution.” The prison
matrons observed that those who were really ill were often the
last to ask permission to see the doctor; while about twenty zeal-
ous women adhered to their code of having nothing to do with
a medical practitioner.

When the women were first given blue and white striped cot-
ton from which they were to sew regulation prison uniforms for

340

SLAVA BOHU

themselves, they refused to touch this “government cloth.” But as
their own clothes wore thinner, their fingers itched for the needles
they so well knew how to use, and they overcame their antipathy
toward “sewing for the government.” Occasionally some would
strip off their clothes and appear triumphantly in “God’s uni-
form,” but as this practice had little effect on the prison matrons,
it was discontinued.

Warden Cooper set a day in the spring on which every woman
was to be in her uniform. On that day, when the women were
in the dining hall, the matrons removed what remained of extra
clothing. When the women returned to their dormitories, some ac-
cused the matrons of thievery; a few sobbed; others pretended not
to mind. The next week they were gradually getting into their
uniforms, though there was much opposition. Within six months
from the time the daughters set foot on their island prison, all
were dressed in regulation penitentiary blouse and full, gathered
skirt. To these drab but trimly fitted dresses, many added small
frills which they made by unraveling pieces of leftover cloth, care-
fully tying together the threads and crocheting lace for collar and
cuffs.

From pieces of wire they manufactured knitting needles, and
knitted from string and unraveled flour sacks salvaged from the
kitchen. Later they were allowed to have needles and thread from
their baggage which, during the first six months, was kept from
them. From sugar sacks they fashioned head shawls. From col-
ored labels of tomato cans, they made paper flowers. Prune stones
were saved for fortunetelling; and several old ladies specialized
in incantations for the sick.

Often they felt lonely for their children, as even the smallest
babies had been taken from their mothers at Okalla Prison and
put in homes. On days when a wave of despair for the absent
children ran through the dormitories, the compound was filled
with melancholy psalms. Yet, when two pregnant women were
told that they were to be sent back to their vfllages there to give
birth to their babies, they protested they did not want to leave their
sisters in prison.

When die Sons refused to submit to discipline, and, in conse-
quence, were put on a bread-and-water diet, they compensated
themselves by belie-ving they were “suffering for Christ.” What
was happening in the men’s compound was soon known to the
women, and vice versa. Each side gave information to the other

PERJURY AND PIERS ISLAND

341

by singing h)nnns with specially prepared words. Thus when
privileges were curtailed in the men’s compound, the women
wailed and screamed in unison, and were sometimes joined by
their menfolk. This occasional 3rammering of six hundred men
and women having lungs well developed by generations of sing-
ing, was the hardest thing for the guards and matrons to bear.
Only by seeming not to mind, could they discourage the prisoners
from it.

There were no attempts at escape when prisoners on good
behavior were taken for walks by their guards. Once when Mary
Zarusky, the Ukrainian matron who spoke Russian, was con-
ducting a walking party of women, a small green garter snake
came wiggling through the grass. Tan3ra Chemenkova, forty-
year-old and stout-built prisoner ran after the harmless snake.
Picking it up, she held it by the tail in one hand and the head
in the other, eyeing Mrs. Zarusky and remarking what a nice
animal it was.

“You education people,” said Tan)ra in English, “you civilized
people, you would kill the little snake. But we know he is nice and
he knows we would not kill him. Jesus put him here to live with
us a peaceful life.”

“If you really mean that you do not wish to kill an3dhing,”
asked Mary Zarusky, sternly, “why do you people put dynamite
on the railway tracks ?”

“How do you know we put dynamite on the railway tracks?”
Tanya replied, still holding the snake which wriggled uncom-
fortably.

“How do I know you burn schoolhouses also?” Mary Zarusky
asked.

“How do you know?” echoed another woman, in Russian. “It
is not true, ne pravda.”

“I’ll report you to Cooper,” said Nastia Novakshonova. “The
Warden Cooper will fire you for sa)dng these things.”

Tanya put the snake back in the grass and they all began talking
about persecution, “Ukrainian spies,” and the many burdens which
civilization had thrust upon them.

Dora Perehudova, “big Dora,” refused to kill flies when the
nurse handed her a fly swatter in the hospital. “It is wrong to
kill,” she said. But the week before she had eaten chicken soup
with relish, “because it is right to obey the doctor.”

Quibbling went on unceasingly, and so often did both guards

342

SLAVA BOHU

and matrons hear the Russian word “nyet” (no), that they re-
ferred to their prisoners as “nits.” The daughters returned the
compliment by calling the matrons “suka” (bitches).

Every day but Sunday was washday, and they liked to hang
their laundry on the barbwire fence, instead of in the dormitories,
as was required by regulations. One day in the summer of 1933,
when a section of the fence fluttered with women’s underclothes.
Deputy Warden Louis Goss sent for Lillian Stevenson, the head
matron, and ordered her to have the clothes taken off the barb-
wire immediately.

Mrs. Stevenson, short, blond and active, passed on the order to
Bertha Bourne, who, with several more of the twelve matrons,
began the tiresome and ever-recurring task of argument and per-
suasion. Big Dora wanted to know, “Where does he want us to
hang them when already there are not enough clotheslines inside ?”

“The orders are to take down those clothes,” insisted Mrs.
Bourne.

“Why should it be necessary to hang clothes to dry inside a
house in the summer?” asked Dasha Repin, the rose-complexioned
waitress from the Proctor Hotel, who had become one of the
most persistently stubborn young women on the island prison.

Amidst much muttering, sighs, and many “nyets,” they reluc-
tantly carried their pink and blue striped underclothing into the
dormitories. But there was no yammering. All was quiet that
night when the deputy warden boarded the boat for Vancouver
Island. The one sentry paced the walk above the compound gates,
and the bright white rows of Coleman gas lamps reflected yellow
in the oily sea.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

DEPORTATION FIASCO

THE FAITHFUL SENT PETITIONS to government offi-
cials in provincial capitals, and to Ottawa, asking that Peter Veri-
gin be released from prison. In this, they enlisted the aid of
churchmen, politicians, and other influential persons in Canada
and other countries. “Persecution” stories edioed again in the
journals of distant lands. The government of Turkey was one
of those notified of Peter’s plight.

Saskatchewan University’s president, Walter C. Murray, a be-
nign and diplomatic man with a sjmpathy for Christian minori-
ties, advised Saskatchewan’s attorney general that Peter’s im-
prisonment was increasing the leader’s influence over the Dukho-
bors, and in like ratio alienating their sympathy to Canada.

In the meantime, through the tolerance of the authorities,
Verigin was permitted to hold a “cabinet” meeting in a visitors’
room of Saskatchewan Penitentiary, and thus continue to give
personal direction to the affairs of the Christian Community of
Universal Brotherhood Limited and his “Named Dukhobors of
Canada and Soviet Russia.”

Summoning John Shukin from Brilliant, Michael Cazakoff
from Verigin, Peter Morozoff from Yorklon and Sam Reibin
from California, Nikito Popoff from Blaine Lake and several
lesser of his “ministers” from other points, he prepared a lengthy
list of instructions for the August day on which the conference
was to be.

Peter Makaroff was also summoned to the “cabinet” meeting.
Once more Verigin had retained him as legal counsel, and he had
appealed Verigin’s case. Though the appeal was not allowed, five
judges met in Regina and reduced Verigin’s sentence to eighteen
months. Now Makaroff was suing J. A. M. Patrick, K. C. (Veri-
gin’s Yorkton lawyer), for the $7,000 which Verigin felt Patrick
had overcharged for defending him against the perjury charge
that had resulted in his imprisonment.

On the day of the “cabinet” meeting, Wilfrid Eggleston, feature
writer for the Toronto Daily Star, was in Prince Albert, and
he obtained permission to attend, as sort of a one-man press gal-
lery. While Eggleston and Makaroff were waiting the appointed

343

344

SLAVA BOHU

hour at the entry desk in the penitentiary, Verigin was brought
from his cell.

Dressed in prison uniform of khaki cotton smock and trousers,
gray collarless shirt, he carried a roll of papers under his arm.
He bowed to the lawyer and the newspaperman, and shook hands
vigorously with them. He walked briskly into the wire-screened
room in such as way that the prison guards escorting him seemed
part of his court.

Eggleston looked on with slight amazement. Makaroff put one
hand to his face as if erasing a smile. At a nod from the sergeant,
the two followed Verigin into the room. With a courteous bow
and a wave of his papers, Verigin invited Eggleston to a chair;
then, turning to Makaroff, thanked him, in Russian, for coming,
and hoped that the vice-presidents of the Community, together
with the other officials, would not keep anyone waiting.

While Verigin talked rapidly, Eggleston, who did not under-
stand Russian, observed this man who had been the subject of so
many newspaper columns. He has a very sonorous voice and
unusually expressive hands, thought Eggleston. Something about
his eyes and forehead was reminiscent of Ramsay MacDonald,
England’s prime minister. Verigin, fixing his gaze on Eggleston,
abruptly ceased his flow of Russian.

“Mr. Eggleston, Mr. Verigin would like to tell you what is
wrong with the world,” Makaroff interpreted.

“Yes, I would be very pleased.”

Verigin released a flood of Russian, then stopped, as if he were
operated by a stop watch.

“He says,” Makaroff translated, “the trouble with the world
today is that everyone is following selfish desires. No one cares
about the welfare of humanity. It is every man for himself —
exploitation, waste, extravagance.”

While Makaroff translated, Verigin watched, owl-like, lips
moving slightly, as if to count each word and make certain Maka-
roff neither dropped nor added one.

“The world loiows how wrong it is. The world knows that
selfishness is at the root of all its unhappiness. But the world is
a drunkard,” Makaroff continued.

In a deep whisper, leaning close to Eggleston, Verigin said
in Russian : “Like a drunken man, the world knows it has sinned,
like a drunkard who staggers on and on to the very brink of
destruction, who knows, but who persists therein.”

At this point his voice rose to a shout.

DEPORTATION FIASCO 345

“Quieten down there,” said the desk sergeant, peering through
the wire screen.

Verigin looked silently at Eggleston and Makaroff, thrust out
his hands and shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of helpless-
ness. His sad eyes seeming brown now, large and deerlike, and a
tear, trickling down his cheek, followed the deep line which curved
from the base of his nose and disappeared into his mustache.

“The world is nearly as bad as the people riding on it. Some
day when it is spinning around, its tire will fall off, then the
spokes will come out, then its axle will break, then it will be kaput
forever. Slava Bohu.” He waved a hand, as if dismissing the topic
and the world itself.

“But in the meantime we must attend to practical affairs.” He
turned to Makaroff. “What are we doing about John Kreuger,
the bootlegger?”

John Kreuger, maker of moonshine whisky, was serving a
term of six months because he could not pay a $300 fine. “He
is not a Dukhobor, but he is a human being,” said Verigin. “I,
Chestiakov, being the purger, have to clean his cell.” He laughed
so loudly at this that the sergeant in charge came ominously close
to the wire screen again.

“Poor Kreuger,” he continued in subdued voice, “his wife and
children are waiting for him on the farm where he made his
vodka, and he cannot even go home to harvest his crop. Some-
thing in me, possibly it is the voice of God, tells me that I should
free the son of a bitch. "Why is he not free? Did I not tell you,
Makaroff, to telegraph those $300 to Ottawa?”

“I have sent $200 ; tliat is all I have received for the purpose
so far,” said Makaroff.

“Oh, those directors of mine! I will see them today and find
out how they are wasting the public funds, so there is nothing left
to help an honest man. Pravda, the world is very selfish. Why do
not you, Makaroff, help other prisoners to get free, even if they
cannot pay you?”

“If I helped one today, there would be thousands tomorrow,”
said Makaroff.

While he was in the midst of exhorting the newspapers to turn
away from trivial things, a prison authority came in to announce
that the vice-presidents of the Christian Community of Universal
Brotherhood had arrived. Cazakoff, Shuldn and the others en-
tered, twisting their caps in their hands and bowing. The “cabi-
net” session was similar to that of many other conferences, but

346

SLAVA BOHU

there was less profanity and an absence of fisticufEs. Petushka,
toirolling his papers, announced that this year was to^ be the last
of the “Five-Year Plan” which he had instituted on his arrival in
Canada, and that the time had come to pay all debts owed by the
Community.

The debts were to be paid in the following manner: (a) by
every salaried official returning all the money he had ever received
in wages ; (b) by each official responsible reimbursing the treasury
for aU the financial losses for which he was responsible; and (c)
by the receipts of this fall’s wheat and fruit harvest.

Impracticable as it all was, the officials listened obediently, and
set out for their homes wondering how to carry out the new
“orders.” Bewildered, too, was Wilfrid Eggleston, who, when
they had left the penitentiary, asked a semiskeptical Independent
what happened when the leader gave such impossible orders ?

“Oh, sometimes they get a beating; sometimes he forgets soon
that he has given that order, and they try to keep away from him
until they are sure he has forgotten,” the man replied.

Denied his usual orations, Peter found an outlet by answering
some letters sent to him by the faithful. Amidst much philosophiz-
ing and many quotations from the New Testament, he declared
that Verigin was in prison, not Chestiakov. “If Chestiakov did
not command Verigin to drink vodka and go to prison, then
Verigin would not do these things. But you must know that
Chestiakov is all-powerful and all-good, and Chestiakov has a
reason for everything; he knows and does what is best for every-
one. Everything in the end is arranged for our prosperity, thanks
to Jesus Christ who must suffer. All will be well. Slava Bohu.”

The faithful, in their letters, bemoaned his persecution, thanked
him for suffering for them, asked his advice. . . . “Slava Bohu,
Christ has risen. Dearest Petushka, I pray every night for you.
I am so sorry your leg is bothering you again. I am sending you
five doUars ”

The maids of his many residences in Saskatchewan and British
Columbia wrote letters of adoration, hoping soon he would be
with them again. To them he replied endearingly, in the “Spirit
of Christ,” saving his wrath for the officials and bookkeepers.

That fall the wheat 3deld was fair in the Duldiobor districts of
Saskatchewan, but in December the price of wheat fell to the
lowest ever recorded in Canada. It was impossible for farmers
to pay expenses. The more land an Independent had under culti-
vation the worse off he was financially. This economic situation,

DEPORTATION FIASCO 347

outside of Dukhobor affairs, had the effect of driving fatalistic
Independents closer within the Verigin fold.

Dr. J. T. M. Anderson, Saskatchewan’s first Conservative
premier in many years, was convinced Verigin was the cause of
most of the Duldiobor trouble. This view was shared by the Con-
servative prime minister, Richard Bedford Bennett. Therefore it
was decided that Verigin should be secretly deported to Soviet
Russia, in the arbitrary fashion in which “Reds” were being spir-
ited out of Canada at the time.

So, in the last days of January, 1933, when Verigin had com-
pleted only nine months of his eighteen-month prison term, two
plain-clothes agents from Ottawa arrived in Prince Albert. They
presented the penitentiary warden with a mysterious “pardon”
and whisked Verigin from jail to the waiting southbound train
for Regina.

Verigin, his suit hanging loosely on him, because of the fat he
had lost, and the same straw hat on his head that he had when
he entered the penitentiary the previous May, remonstrated with
his guards, repeatedly asking that he be allowed to see his lawyer.
But the agents answered firmly tliat their orders were to take him
to Halifax and allow him to speak with no one, nor would they
notify any one of his destination. He slumped down in a seat
at the end of the coach, staring moodily out of the window.

The Prince Albert correspondent of the Saskatoon Star-
Phoenix, Mrs. D. J. Rose, somehow learned he had been taken
from the prison and was on his way to the Atlantic seaboard for
deportation. She telegraphed Christian Smith, city editor, who
telephoned Makaroff at his office.

“That is the first I’ve heard about it,” Makaroff said. “I am
amazed they would not notify his counsel.”

Makaroff then telephoned Shukin at Brilliant and Cazakoff at
Verigin. He telephoned Prime Minister Bennett, and the Honour-
able Wesley Gordon, minister of immigration, at Ottawa, request-
ing that Verigin be held in Winnipeg so that he (Makaroff) could
see him. But his requests were refused.

He dictated a letter to the attorney general of Saskatchewan
suggesting that the procedure adopted to get rid of Verigin was
of doubtful legality.

The telephone in Makaroff’s office rang once more. It was Shu-
kin, distressed and excited. “Petushka must be saved. He must
not be sent away. What will we do without him. Peter, Peter
you must save him, no matter how much money it costs.”

348

SLAVA BOHU

“I might catch him at Halifax with an airplane,” said Maka-
roff. “But I don’t know what I could do there.”

“Da, da, hire an airplane and fly to him. It is terrible,” said
Shukin. “Poor Petushka.”

So wrought up over the prospect of losing his benefactor did
Shukin become, that he, who had never been in a plane, hurried
across the Canadian border to the United States and chartered an
airplane for Halifax. Makaroff left Saskatoon on a train to
Winnipeg, flying east from there. Sam Reibin, Verigin’s personal
secretary of the moment, flew with him. They met Shukin in
Boston.

“We are ruined.” Shukin wrung his hands.

The pilot doubted if they could reach Halifax before the liner,
on which Verigin was to be deported, sailed next morning. There
was fog along the coast, visibility poor.

Makaroff again telephoned the prime minister, asking that Veri-
gin be held in Canada, at least until the next boat. But he would
not reconsider his decision. “That man Verigin is to leave on the
Montcalm tomorrow morning and no power on earth can stop
him,” said the prime minister.

Makaroff then telephoned Lionel Ryan, a Halifax lawyer versed
in immigration laws. Ryan agreed to do all he could to stay the
deportation order. Then, persuading their pilot to risk the weather,
the three took off, and reached the ship, still in dock. They found
Verigin detained in a room of the Immigration Sheds.

“I do not need your help, Makaroff. I have everything ar-
ranged,” Verigin said, with a grandiose wave of his hand.

“Very well,” replied Makaroff, “I will leave you here.” He was
almost out of the door, before Verigin pleaded.

"Poshalostal Please! Do not leave me. I was so upset that I
did not know what I was saying,” he wailed.

“Are you sure?” Makaroff hesitated.

“Yes, yes. I do not want to go to Russia where the Bolsheviks
will kill me. Please help me to stay in Canada.”

With the Halifax lawyer Makaroff went to the court house,
where they procured a writ of habeas corpus, in order that Verigin
be produced in court and just cause for his detention be shown.
The essence of the lawyers’ argument was simple :

Legally speaking, either Verigin had been pardoned, or he was
still undergoing sentence. If pardoned, the crime for which he had
been sentenced and all its consequences must be wiped out and
he should be at liberty. If he had not been pardoned, he should be

DEPORTATION FIASCO

349

in his proper place at Saskatchewan Penitentiary, Prince Albert,
not at Halifax. In either case the authorities had no legal right
to deport him unless they could show just cause.

To ensure that he would not be bundled aboard either of the
two Europe-bound liners under steam in the harbor, the sheriff
served both captains with the writ of habeas corpus. Thus, on
Saturday morning, both the Montcalm and the Ascania steamed
out of Halifax harbor leaving Verigin behind. Under terms of
an order nisi granted by Justice Humphrey Hellish, Verigin was
required to appear in supreme court, where immigration authori-
ties were to be given opportunity to show cause for his detention.

C. B. Smith, K. C., counsel for the immigration authorities,
had meager information. He knew little other than that Verigin
was to be deported. Judge Hellish adjourned the hearing to allow
the immigration authorities to obtain further information from
Ottawa.

Verigin, back in the Immigration Sheds, wrote a statement for
the newspapers and the story was carried across Canada. He
urged his followers to be calm “and to continue industriously in
your daily activities, just as if I were still among you. Beware
of provocators and agitators. Do not follow the example of the
foolish Sons of Freedom, provocators who have been banished
from our land and with whom we have nothing to do . .

Three times he appeared before Judge Hellish, and three times
he was taken back to the Immigration Sheds, still awaiting the
verdict. Hakaroff and Shukin went to Ottawa, but the minister
of immigration was still emphatic that Verigin must be deported.

At Halifax on February 26, Judge Hellish gave his verdict :
Verigin was to be released from detention; he had been detained
unlawfully; he had been pardoned and taken out of penitentiary,
but there was no such thing in the law as a pardon for deportation.
The embryo Gestapo methods had failed, conspicuously and igno-
miniously.

The faithful everywhere rejoiced. Verigin took a large room
in the Halifax Hotel, ordered whisky and meat. Within twenty-
four hours he was feeling his old self again, accusing Shukin of
business inefficiency, arguing with Hakaroff that his legal fee
of $1,225 was exhorbitant.

For several days and nights, he staged one of his fantastic
sessions. Community officials, lawyers, newspaper reporters, real
estate promoters, curious spectators, eager partakers of food and
drink, satellites, favorites of the moment, erstwhile students of

350

SLAVA BOHU

psychology attended his court. Amidst the clink of glasses, popping
of ginger-ale caps and general conversation, he demolished a whole
roast duck with noisy satisfaction, and told the press he bore no
grudge against the Canadian government and hoped to see the
day when God would reveal the whole truth. >

Among the honored guests was W. Shafonsky of Blaine Lake,
Saskatchewan, ex-Cossack captain, who, after his escape from
revolutionary Russia, had traveled in South America. Shafonsky
was prepared to arrange passports for Verigin to almost any
South American country to which he might wish to go. Another
guest was John MacDougall of Camden, New Jersey, general
manager of the American Colonization Company, who was pre-
pared to sell half a million acres, known as Paraise Valley, situ-
ated forty miles from Saltillo, capital city of Coahualla, Mexico.

Makaroff, who was invariably at loss to explain these strange
sessions to his Anglo-Saxon friends — short of writing a history
of the Dukhobors — set out for Saskatoon.

At first the faithful on the prairies and in the mountains had
heard that Peter Makaroff was responsible for saving Petushka
from deportation. Knowing his influence with the Independents,
Verigin made certain that Makaroff should not loom large in the
eyes of the faithful. For this reason he telegraphed to the settle-
ments that God and the judge had got him out of jail, and that
Peter Makaroff had put him in again.

On the train Makaroff received an urgent telegram from Veri-
gin. The government was taking further action for deportation.
Would Makaroff wait in Winnipeg for him? He would leave
Halifax immediately. So later at tibe Marlborough Hotel in Win-
nipeg more courtiers mingled with those whom Verigin brought
with him, and there was a theatrical session with the gaunt-faced
Shukin, the round-headed ex-White officer, Shafonsky, and vari-
ous others.

And Makaroff again left for Saskatoon.

The next day Verigin removed to Saskatoon, where, as if emu-
lating the flight across the continent to save him from deporta-
tion, he chartered two airplanes and dropped from the clouds over
Blaine Lake there to address 2,000 of the faithful assembled in
the new buff-brick hall of the Named Dukhobors. On this occa-
sion he kept them waiting only six hours. He denounced Peter
Makaroff, quot^ from the New Testament, and in general de-
livered one of his customary orations.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

MIXED PROCEEDINGS

HIGH TORIES AT OTTAWA, convinced of the efficacy of
sudden deportation as a partial cure for crime, the “Red Menace,''
unemployment, the low price of wheat and the Dukhobor prob-
lem, continued in their efforts to prove that their attempted depor-
tation of Peter Verigin was legal.

On March 29, the supreme court of Canada gave decision that
a convict, other than a Canadian, liable by his offence to be
deported, continues to be subject to deportation, even if released
prior to the expiration of his sentence under a valid exercise of
the royal prerogative. An act of clemency in releasing a convict
from prison prior to completion of the term of his sentence may
be valid and effective in law without consent of the convict. This
was the unanimous opinion of the supreme court.

But the highest legal authorities of Nova Scotia immediately
pointed out that Peter Verigin could not be deported from that
province, that the Halifax judge's release of Verigin still stood —
in Nova Scotia.

Prime Minister Bennett, a man of vigorous, impulsive determi-
nation, corporation lawyer, bold orator, millionaire, was possessed
also of Russiaphobia. To him, Bolshevik Russia was a fit place
for nearly all undesirable persons of earth. Besides, he was con-
vinced that Verigin's removal to Russia would immediately dimin-
ish Canada's Dtdchobor problem. He might have had the Dukho-
bor chieftain spirited away aboard a steamer bound from Van-
couver.

But public opinion would not allow it. Canadians, irked with
continued business depression and unemployment that Bennett had
promised to banish, were easily roused against the government's
secret deportation policy. Editorials upbraided it from coast to
coast. Newspapers admitted that Verigin might not be a very
desirable resident of Canada, but in resisting and defeating the
arbitrary methods resorted to by the department of immigration,
he had done a substantial public service. “This whole business of
kidnapping people and rushing them out of the country on the

351

352

SLAVA BOHU

say-so of a board of immigration officials will have to be stopped,”
declared the Winnipeg Free Press.

Canon Scott of Quebec, a loyal and dutiful subject of His
Majesty the King, was stirred to indignation by the secret trials
and banishments of men to European countries — even to England
and Scotland. That men might be arrested, tried privately, denied
the privilege of calling outside witnesses, and deported secretly
across the sea according to the opinion of immigration officials,
brought Canon Scott, and others to declare themselves. “I hate
to think that in my native land we have to build up the security of
a free people by the methods of the star chamber . . . every drop
of British blood — ^and, whether for worse or better, I have no
other — ^boiled in me,” this Anglican clergyman wrote to the press.

Thus, though Peter Verigin could have been legally deported,
even without resort to secret process, for he had been convicted
of a criminal offense prior to the expiration of five years from the
date he entered Canada, the government dropped the case.

A few weeks earlier, on April 28, Verigin in Yorkton gave
notice that he would discontinue his lawsuit against J, A. M.
Patrick, K. C., for recovery of $7,000 legal fees. Simultaneously
he aimounced that Peter Makaroff was no longer his lawyer.

In the latter part of April and early in May, while he con-
tinued to address the faithful on his return from Halifax, there
was a stirring among Sons of Freedom in Saskatchewan. Six
women, whose husbands were serving terms of two years and
more in Saskatchewan Penitentiary for parading in the nude,
wrote to Premier Anderson of Saskatchewan. In their letter the
six wives offered to the premier the titles to their husbands* land
by the Sons of Freedom village of Terpanie. “Titles to land are
your invention,” they wrote, “so now you can take them back,
but land is still God’s creation and such it will remain . . .”

What Peter Verigin had done to agitate further protests and
nude parades that summer, is not revealed. His ambiguity, their
peculiar creed, and increasing confusion on all sides, made for
circumstances which neither he nor they, nor Professor S. R.
Laycock, the psychologist at the University of Saskatchewan,
could explain. The hearty Premier Anderson — ^who after his
party’s defeat once more became a life insurance sales manager —
seldom hesitated to express indignation at the preposterous be-
havior of the Dukhobor fanatics whom the Liberals had brought
to Canada. Yet such fantasy did not entirely displease him. In
the mad Dukhobors, at least, was a problem concerning which

MIXED PROCEEDINGS

353

he could emphatically state himself. And for this he was not
altogether ungrateful, faced as he was with economic and social
conundrums so full of puzzlement that he felt constrained to be
ambiguous about them.

Like his mentor, the prime minister, he believed that removal
of P. P. Verigin from the midst of the Dukhobors would result
in the solution of the Dukhobor problem, in the same way that
removal of unemployed agitators would be the solution of unem-
plo3Tnent.

In mid-June, that time of promise on the prairies when poplar
leaves are greenest, wild strawberry blossoms are whitest, and
when the wheat is growing from moisture left behind by winter
snows, despite hot winds or hail to follow, the Royal Canadian
Mounted Police at Yorkton were informed that Sons of Freedom
in the vicinity of Verigin were once more preparing to parade
nude. Consequently, two guardians of the law in plain clothes,
Detective-Sergeant N. J. Anderson and Constable M. Nolan, were
dispatched to the district.

It was on June 18 that the two mounted policemen in a Ford
car encountered a parade of about five hundred and fifty Dukho-
bors, three miles from the town of Verigin. Among the fifty
naked ones, carrying their clothes under their arms, were the six
wives who had written to Premier Anderson on behalf of their
imprisoned husbands. Five hundred sympathizers, approximately,
marched fully clothed, in the rear.

“There are our enemies, the enemies of Christ,” said Mrs.
Laura Larasoff who, after pointing an accusing finger at the
policemen, defiantly folded her arms. Her husband was in prison
for nude parading.

“Why are they always tormenting us?” asked an old man.

Constable Mickey Nolan, whose name before he had changed it,
was Michael Novokovski, inquired in Russian why they had un-
dressed.

An old lady of seventy stepped forward to answer him.

“Christ came to this earth naked, and so did we, his followers.
God made men and women, and if men and women are ashamed
of their bodies they must also be ashamed of God.”

Constable Nolan had grown up in Blaine Lake district, was a
student of psychology, and a schoolteacher before he joined the
police.

“But,” Nolan remonstrated, “God gave man brains with which
to make beautiful clothes to cover his nakedness, just as he gave

354

SLAVA BOHU

feathers to the birds and tails to the animals. By not using those
brains you are turning away from God.”

“Oh, yes,” replied one of them, “we know you. You are a
civilized man, copying the English. You would say that God gave
humans brains so that they could pull the feathers from the
chickens, then eat them.”

“Da, da, and skin the cows, cut their tails off and make soup
of them,” another accused. “You believe in using force, and kill-
ing animals. You would even join an army and kill men.”

“Our belief is in freedom,” came a high-pitched voice, “and
we must demonstrate that freedom to the whole world.”

“It is not freedom you are demonstrating,” said Nolan, “you
are forcing other people to look at you in your nakedness.”

“They are standing there,” said a long-haired son, indicating
the policemen, “standing there in our paffi forcing us to look at
them with their clothes on when we do not wish to see them.”

“But can’t you understand that most of the people of Canada
do not want to be naked, nor do they wish to see others naked?”
asked Nolan, with a shade of exasperation. “The laws of Canada
are made by the great majority of the people, and you also must
obey those laws. If not, you are interfering with the freedom
of other people.”

“That is your civilization, the same civilization that killed
Christ when tibe whole government and nearly all the people chased
and tormented him. Your government put poor Petushka in
prison. It teaches men to make guns and kill one another.”

Detective-Sergeant Anderson got in the automobile, turned it
around and drove back toward Verigin, where he telephoned for
detailed orders' from headquarters.

“It is terrible,” said the old woman, squinting after the disap-
pearing car, “I’m sure much trouble is coming.”

One of tibe naked, whimpering children was taken in the arms
of a bearded son with vacuous eyes. The first notes of a psalm
rose with the dust as the assemblage moved on toward Verigin.

The brown-eyed and muscular Nolan marched with the parade.
He knew the Sons of Freedom. He had a S3mipathy for them and
their chaotic universalism, and that, perhaps, may have been why
he held tenaciously to a faith in the Roman Catholic Church of
his boyhood.

The psalm ended. There was thudding of many feet on the
roadway, and the hum of a tractor in a farmer’s field. The sun beat
down on the rich green wheat, and from a fragrant dump of

MIXED PROCEEDINGS

355

wolfe-willow came the whining chatter of a catbird. The marchers
reached the entrance of a stock corral in a pasture field where
pink and white roses peeped out from the prairie grass. Constable
Nolan commanded them to halt. After some argument he per-
suaded them to enter the corral, and ordered them to put on their
clothes.

“Why should we dress ourselves?” asked one, “It is just as
right that we should ask you to take off your clothes.”

“You,” said Mary Lebedoff, pointing an accusing finger at
him, “you are the one who arrested my husband. Now you are
here to torment us.”

“He wore a red uniform then,” said another, “now he wears
ordinary clothes, and soon he will wear none at dl.”

“Let us show him the Christian way,” shouted a woman whose
plump body seemed colossal in her nakedness. “Let us take off
his clothes.” She advanced firmly toward the constable.

Pulling Nolan’s shirt out from his trousers, she tried to tear his
coat from his back. Set upon by a dozen women, he swung his
baton. The men took no part in the fray, and soon the vanguard
retreated. Amidst taunts hurled at the constable and his noncom-
plimentary remarks about their lack of grace, the women dressed
and so did the men.

Detective-Sergeant Anderson, with reinforcements and trucks,
arrived from Canora. With that combination of stubbornness and
acquiescence innate in them, the sons and daughters allowed them-
selves to be loaded into the trucks.

In Canora the men were put in the Royal Canadian Mounted
Police and town cells, while the women and children were kept
under guard in a vacant house. They were all fed bread and tea,
and they passed the day, alternately singing psalms and urging
the guards to remove their clothing and so show themselves in
the Spirit of Christ. Men and women whom the police could not
identify as having been nude, were released. Among these were
two girls of eighteen, Polia Tarasova and Aima Verigina. The
girls went back to their village that afternoon.

But the next morning, at 9 :35 they returned to Canora on the
westbound train. On the Canadian National station platform, to
the amazement of passengers and the train meeters of Canora,
they undressed. Followed by an old woman, Derhusova, who car-
ried their clothes and whose son was serving a term at Prince
Albert, they walked down Canora’s main street to the house where
the other women were detained.

356

SLAVA BOHU

Approaching the guards, Polia informed them that, “if our
brothers and sisters must go to prison, we too will go.’’ As soon
as the girls were arrested, the old lady gave them their clothes
and they dressed.

When all appeared before Police Magistrate Alex MacDonald,
those thought to be ringleaders among the men were sentenced to
terms at Prince Albert, while the greater number were s^t to
Regina Jail; the women being sent to the Battleford jail for
women.

Throughout the summer of 1933, Sons of Freedom were being
released from Piers Island Penitentiary and sent back to the
settlements. Each was given an outfit of clothing, ten dollars in
cash, and a railway ticket.

Some did not want to leave their brothers and sisters, saying
that they had been sentenced to three years and only one year
had gone by. But the Federal and provincial government found
the incarceration costly, and were anxious to have the Sons of
Freedom rehabilitate themselves on the land.

In the spring of 1933, the provincial minister of finance was
faced with an estimate of $86,000 for the maintenance of the
children for the fiscal year. In an effort to balance the budget he
whittled $40,000 from the estimate, which meant that responsi-
bility to that amount fell on the shoulders of William Manson,
supervisor for neglected children. The supervisor had not the
money to maintain the children at a cost of from sixty to eighty
cents per day.

To assist rehabilitation of children and adults, a committee was
formed of three unofficial representatives : John Sherbinin repre-
senting the Dukhobors, F. F. Payne, publisher of the Nelson
Daily News, representing the public, and David B. Brankin, super-
intendent of the Provincial Industrial School for Boys, Port
Coquitlan, representing the government.

Children of parents who were still on the island were accepted
in the Dukhobor colonies, but the returning men and women were
not generally welcomed by the Community people. Thus the Sons
of Freedom had to plant vegetable gardens and begin farming
anew after a fashion, on the sandy soil allowed them by the Com-
munity. Even those who wished, to settle down found it difficult
to do so.

The British Columbia government, through its attorney general,
asked the commissioner of the provincial police to investigate the

MIXED PROCEEDINGS

357

situation in the settlements. Thomas Parsons, assistant commis-
sioner of police, went to Nelson. With Payne, Inspector Mac-
donald of the Nelson division, Staff-Sergeant Barber and Spiel-
mans, the interpreter. Parsons went to Brilliant to interview Veri-
gin, who reiterated his stand. The Sons of Freedom demonstra-
tions had in the first place been directed against himself and the
Community, he said. He would not have these provocators. They
were criminals sentenced to prison by the government, and they
were the government’s responsibility. Yet, as a peaceful resident
of Canada, he was willing to do all he could to help the govern-
ment. If the Sons of Freedom would abstain from breaking the
laws of the country he would allow them to settle on some nine
hundred acres of unused Community land at Champion Creek.

Assistant Commissioner Parsons, in his report to headquarters
of March 19, pointed out that little was to be gained in an attempt
to rehabilitate the Sons of Freedom by “planting” them on a
hostile Community. He thought Verigin’s Champion Creek offer
should be accepted, but that it was not sufficient. To avoid repe-
tition of the costly situation, he suggested that the landless Dukho-
bor minority might be regarded in the same manner as a landless
and itinerant Red Indian band and treated accordingly. Such a
plan would imply, the Assistant Commissioner reported, “a Fed-
eral agent or custodian, fully familiar with the Dukhobor nature,
language, history, system and objectives. In short, an educated
Russian who — ^with all its implications — is a Canadian also.”

For Federal agent or custodian, the assistant commissioner
recommended a Russian count “of commanding appearance. He
has studied, written and lectured on those of his countr 3 mien
in Canada.”

Payne wrote to Attorney General Sloan, pointing out that he
thought little money would be saved to the governments, even
should the courts sustain a legal action forcing the Community to
take back the Sons of Freedom.

In the meantime, men and women released from Piers Island
continued to arrive in the Dukhobor settlements, and the cost of
penitentiary upkeep was gradually lessened.

Verigin stayed mostly in Brilliant, instructing his bookkeepers
and badgering Shukin. Among the destitute Sons of Freedom
were many who had contributed to his “white horse fund,” but
now, when several of them reminded him of this money, he re-
proached them, saying the white horse had eaten the money and
had died. “And you provocators are the ones who killed him !”

358

SLAVA BOHU

March 31, Verigin was in Nelson and sat drinking beer in the
Savoy Hotel. Max Bashkin, a Russian- Jew in the lumber busi-
ness, who found Peter’s antics entertaining, was with him. About
nine o’clock at night, Petushka began shouting and banging his
fist on the table. The beer waiter did not like to interfere with
him because he spent money freely and times were hard. All eyes
were on Verigin. Bashkin told him to be quiet, but he insisted
that he could not stay in a beer parlor where there were women
customers, and the men were not gentlemen enough to remove
their hats. After he had broken some glasses, the management sent
for the police. He was stalking between the tables and shouting
when Constable Bob Harshaw arrived.

"‘You had better keep quiet/’ said the constable who was born
in County Down, south of Belfast, and looked it.

But Verigin continued to wave his arms and shout. Bashkin
could not quieten him. They were all three husky men, the Dukho-
bor, the Irishman and the Jew; the spectators in the beer parlor
looked on with increased anticipation.

"Come outside, I want to talk with you,” said the constable.

"Son of a bitch,” Verigin replied in English, and with that he
punched Harshaw in the chest.

The blow knocked him back a step or two, but with set jaw he
advanced, dodged the next blow, put a headlock on him, threw
him on the floor and handcuffed him to the accompaniment of
hearty applause from the tables.

Verigin was still bellowing in Russian as the constable dragged
him through the door and out onto the street, where two Dukho-
bors, Nik Zaitsoff and Pete Markin, tried to interfere.

Zaitsoff directed a blow at Harshaw’s head. Harshaw dodged,
struck out and knocked him unconscious to the sidewalk. Markin
jumped on Harshaw’s back. Reg Bush, fireman, and Jack Reid,
Hnotyper with the Nelson Daily News, pulled Markin off Har-
shaw’s back.

Constable Harshaw took the three Dukhobors to the police sta-
tion, where Verigin shook the bars liked a caged, mad animal and
shouted curses. Max Bashkin bailed him out of jail that night.
All three Dukhobors were convicted of being intoxicated in a
public place and each was fined twenty-five dollars.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

POLITICS

PETER MAKAROFF, toward the end of 1932, had been
given the honorary title of “King’s Counsel.” In Canada the title
K. C. was awarded by the provincial political party in office at the
time. Liberal governments usually conferred it on lawyers of
Liberal persuasion ; Conservatives on those of Conservative alle-
giance. Peter Makaroff belonged to no party; the Conservative
government hopefully made him a K. C.

In the summer of 1932, when the boxcar tops of both trans-
continental railways carried jobless men from Vancouver to Hali-
fax and back again, a third party emerged in Canada, the Co-
Operative Commonwealth Federation. Launched in Calgary, Al-
berta, that August when prairie farm organization and labor lead-
ers met to find a solution for the enigma of “poverty amidst
plenty,” the Co-Operative Commonwealth Federation was formed,
and proclaimed: “The C. C. F. is a federation of organizations
whose purpose is the establishment in Canada of a co-operative
commonwealth in which the basic principle regulating production,
distribution and exchange will be the supplying of human needs
and not the making of profits.”

Into this agglomeration of Christian socialists, monetary re-
formers, Marxists, misfits, idealists, and men and women who
were acclaimed a success in their various occupations, went Peter
Makaroff in 1933. Opposed to war, the peace policy of the C. C. F.
attracted him. He respected James Woodsworth, Winnipeg Labor
M. P., who was unanimously elected leader of the new party, or
federation as it preferred to be known. Whether from his stub-
born and critical attitude toward the powers that were, or for
idealism, Makaroff had a sympathy for the underdog; a sympathy
on which he spent time and money, in between the remunerative
cases that came to him in his profession. His “old party” and
service club friends thought this promising lawyer a fool to align
himself with what they saw as a Red movement offering neither
material advantage nor social prestige.

Makaroff’s Anglo-Saxon wife — daughter of a staunch Presby-
terian and public school inspector — ^known in Saskatoon for her

359

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SLAVA BOHU

queenly beauty and discernment, nearly persuaded him not to enter
the Saskatchewan election as a C. C. F. candidate. But in the
summer of 1934, Makaroff got into his car and drove north to
Shellbrook constituency, where he was nominated Co-Operative
Commonwealth Federation candidate. It was the new party’s ini-
tial contest, and he was the first Dukhobor ever to try for a seat
in a legislature.

Shellbrook constituency included Blaine Lake district, and
Makaroff asked the Dukhobors for their support. This, most of
them promised, though some doubted the virtue of voting. Among
those who openly worked for his election were: Grandfather
Osachoff — ^who still carried on his back the scars of soldier’s
whips for refusal of military service in Caucasia — ^and his son,
Nick; Nikito Popoff and his family, and the Bludoffs. The dis-
trict was swinging into line, until Peter Verigin came to cast
doubt on the efficacy of voting, hinting at the same time that the
C. C. F. was Bolshevik.

Peter Makaroff arranged a meeting in the Dukhobor Hall and
invited Peter Verigin to state his attitude. Verigin would have
known what to say to the faithful in British Columbia, but in
Blaine Lake district, he was hampered by Makaroff’s influence,
with the result that his oration was mild and ambiguous. When
he sat down even the faithful did not know how to vote, or if to
vote at all.

On election day, June 20, most of the Dukhobors went to the
polls and voted for Makaroff. In the non-Dukhobor polls the
C. C. F. was defeated by men and women who thought a “Red”
party bad enough without having a representative with a name
ending in “off.” The final result of the voting was : Liberal, 5,105 ;
C. C. F., 2,238, and Conservative, 2,165. The next session of the
Saskatchewan Legislature saw a government of 49 Liberals, and
an Opposition of five C. C. F. members and not one Conservative.

Within two weeks after the election in Saskatchewan, the Fed-
eral Conservative government argued for the Federal disen-
franchisement of all Dukhobors in British Columbia. They had
been barred from voting in provincial elections by a provincial act
of October 1931. The act said that every person exempted or en-
titled to claim exemption from military service and every descend-
ant of such persons be disqualified from voting. Now in the
Federal Parliament, Conservative members led by Prime Minister
Bennett, argued that the British Columbia act should be extended
to Federal dections.

POLITICS

361

Woodsworth, the Winnipeg Labor M. P. and C. C. F. leader,
strenuously opposed the legislation. He said it was absurd that all
the Dukhobors, who might now be or might become residents of
British Columbia, and their descendants, should be disqualified
from voting in any elections.

“I am sorry to bring personal matters into this discussion,” said
Woodsworth in the House of Commons, “but the matter is such
a serious one that I think I am justified. If this prominent Saska-
toon lawyer who was a candidate in the recent Saskatchewan elec-
tions, should migrate to British Columbia, he would be disquali-
fied and his descendants, the children of the daughter of a former
lecturer at Queens would also be disqualified from voting.”

Esling, Conservative member for the British Columbia con-
stituency which included Brilliant district, urged that the Dukho-
bors be disenfranchised. He referred to fires, nude parades, bomb-
ing of schools. The Dukhobors, he said, did not know how to use
their ballots.

Motherwell, Liberal M. P., said there were many peculiar peo-
ple in Canada, and “If all the peculiar people are to be disen-
franchised, how many of us will be left with the franchise?”

Prime Minister Bennett pursed his lips and declared Dukhobors
were not being disenfranchised because of their beliefs. They re-
fused to be recorded in the census and therefore they should not
be entitled to vote.

“But,” a member objected, “those Dukhobors who willingly
give their names to the census takers, and Dukhobors who them-
selves have been engaged in taking the census, will be disqualified.”

Mackenzie King, leader of the Opposition, agreed with Woods-
worth. He did not think it advisable to “go back to the Old Testa-
ment times and seek to visit the iniquities of fathers upon descend-
ants to the third and fourth generations.”

But Prime Minister Bennett and his minister of justice were
determined to disenfranchise every Dukhobor and his descendants
who might be residents of British Columbia then or later. The
Conservative members of parliament supported him, and the pro-
posed legislation became law.

CHAPTER FORTY

PETUSHKA PERVERSITY

IN SASKATCHEWAN there were a few Dukhobors, mostly
under the age of thirty, enamored of the social and economic ex-
periment in Soviet Russia. In the summer of 1934, at a meeting
in Verigin, they formed the “Progressive Society of Dukhobors.”
Their manifesto, drawn up at this first convention, was a Dukho-
bor echo of the Communist phraseology :

“We, maintaining our Dukhobor principles shall help fraternal
organizations toward resisting war preparations by supporting
strikes, as that shall be a blow to the makers of war. . . .

“. . . carry into the world of oppressed and unfortunate brethren
the torch of knowledge, help and the hope of a brighter future.”

The manifesto stated that Independents, Individualists, Com-
munity and Sons of Freedom Dukhobors, who would accept the
principles of the Progressive Society of Dukhobors, could become
members of the new organization without losing their former
identity.

Peter Verigin, seeing the new association as a threat to his
authority, anathematized the membership as “No-Dukhobors and
Bolsheviks.”

Peter Verigin ordered a conference of the Named Dukhobors
to be held in Verigin on July 29. It was similar to previous meet-
ings. John BonderofiF, secretary of the Named Dukhobors, and
Shukin and Cazakoff, vice-presidents of the Christian Community
of Universal Brotherhood Limited, were there. Several truck loads
drove from British Columbia in the wake of their leader. In all
there were about two htmdred and fifty assembled around the
ceremonial table on the ground floor of Verigin’s Verigin man-
sion. They began with a psalm in song; while he stayed upstairs
as a god in heaven. As usual, he kept them waiting, and when he
did appear, he sat with his head in his hands for ten minutes be-
fore beginning his address.

The Named Dukhobors (in a “Declaration” issued and mimeo-
graphed in Russian and English at the conclusion of the confer-

362

PETUSHKA PERVERSITY 363

ence) went on record as being unperturbed by their disenfran-
chisement in British Columbia :

“The modern world, generation of man, has scattered and
divided itself into countless groups, following the watchwords and
programs of the various political parties. Every political party
strives against another not for the benefit and welfare of the peo-
ple but for dominance over them, with all the consequences of a
‘diabolical incitement.’ The ‘Named Dukhobors’ never recognized
and do not recognize any political party. They never entered nor
will they ever enter the ranks of any political party. They never
gave nor will they ever give their votes during elections. Thereby
they are free from any responsibility before God or men for the
acts of any government established of men. The ‘Named Dukho-
bors’ are essentially above party politics ; they not only gave their
votes but their bodies, blood and souls to the one and unreplaceable
guardian of the hearts and souls of men — ^the Lord and Saviour
Jesus Christ, thereby attaining perfect freedom.

“. . . accepting and fulfilling the command of Jesus Christ:
‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s’ — ^meaning the
governments of men — ‘and unto God the things that are God’s . . .
we triumphantly declare that, going under the banner of ‘Toil and
Peaceful Life’ everything that is commanded of us which is not
contradictory to the Law of God and to the Faith of Jesus, we
will accept, fulfill and execute, not through fear but through con-
scientious guidance.

“We, the ‘Named Dukhobors’ have been, are, and will be mem-
bers of Christ’s Church, confirmed by the Lord and Saviour Jesus
Christ himself and assembled by his Apostles . . .”

They unanimously re-elected Peter Petrovich Verigin their
leader of the Named Dukhobors. Supported by this mark of con-
fidence, Verigin went to Winnipeg, where, on December IS, he
appeared in city police court on a charge of assaulting Fritz Am-
meter, an erstwhile interpreter.

Ammeter, a frail and pale-faced youth, told the court that he
had gone to Verigin’s hotel room on the morning of November
18, and had been cursed at by Verigin for appearing so late for
his work.

“I will quit,” said Ammeter, “so give me my wages.” Instead,
Verigin jumped up and hit him in the face. “I fell to the floor,”
Ammeter continued, “and he stepped on my head and kicked me
in the side. I fainted and then a bdlboy came and revived me with

T'TiiSkn *V#»ricnn Viif mp in fhp farp aocain

364

SLAVA BOHU

At that point the bellboy intervened and dragged the unfor-
tunate Ammeter from Verigin’s room. The bellboy, John Sery-
chuk, corroborated Ammeter’s testimony to the court.

C. K. Guild, K. C., Verigin’s counsel, refused to call Verigin
to the witness stand, insisting instead that Verigin’s act was that
of a guardian to a youth who had done wrong by appearing late
for his work. Ammeter’s parents were in Russia, said the lawyer
and “Verigin was sort of a Canadian father to him.’’

But Magistrate Graham could not be persuaded that Verigin’s
act had been a fatherly one; without further delay he sentenced
Verigin to two months in jail without option of fine. When his
lawyer appealed the case, the magistrate’s sentence was sustained.

And once more word went out to the faithful that poor
Petushka was suffering in prison for his Christian beliefs, at the
hands of a man-made government.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

KAPUT

BEMOANING THE CRUEL IMPRISONMENT of their
innocent leader, the faithful wrote letters of protest to newspapers
and governments. Alex F. Verigin, a young relative of Peter,
wrote in English from Grand Forks, March 19, 1935, to the Nel-
son Daily News:

“We youths, and all the Named Dukhobors . . . ask you to pay
serious attention. You all well know that our leader P. P. Verigin
is sentenced to serve a jail term at Winnipeg.

“We think that the person who first planned to make war de-
serves much more punishment than our leader for slapping a per-
son on the face, and furthermore, you, day and night, again are
getting ready for war to come. You are urging to have it; if not,
you would not make war armaments of all kinds. You would day
and night pray to God so as we all would have peace on earth.

“When we came to Canada ... we thought, yes, this is a civil-
ized country and so are the people in it, but to our great astonish-
ment ... it seems to us that there is no country that ranks as high
in barbarism as Canada.

“What if your King George would be given once a nine months’
term and another time two or three months with such treatment as
you gave our leader?

“We feel pain, grief and sorrow and we can't stand the tortures
of our leader any longer, you will either have to give him freedom
or else take us all, for our motto is : ‘One for all and all for one.’

“I thank you for your kind attention.”

Another letter deploring the prison term given “our leader,”
accused the Canadian people of “being brought up in a beastlike
manner, eating meat, using alcohol, so that now you do not know
what you are doing yourselves. You are now thinking you are on
the right path of God with your priests and ministers.”

It would seem from this fervent letter, that neither young nor
old of the faithful were aware of their leader’s vices. If they ever
did think of them with misgivings they, no doubt, re-assured
themselves with the “confessional” statement he had made on
several occasions : He would prefer to behave as Christ; he hated

365

366

SLAVA BOHU

vodka, meat, poker, fighting; but in these things it was necessary
that he openly indulge, in order to fool the Canadian government.
Otherwise, the goveriunent would discover his divinity, persecute
him even unto death, as had been done to Christ at the hands of
a government 2,000 years ago.

Among other explanations he had given for his behavior was
when he died he would have to go to Hell, because God had told
him there were Dukhobors there who could be released only by a
personal visit from him. An angel could not go to Hell. So, much
against his desire, he lived this life so that at death he could enter
the gates of Hell and rescue their unfortunate brothers from the
fiery furnace. •• • r t :l

■'^ile these and similar explanations of his conduct — or none
at all — satisfied the old folk among the faithful, young men and
women were becoming confused. Though Petushka in his orations
generally exhorted them not to drink liquor, not to eat meat, not
to fight, not to dance, not to use profane language or musical in-
struments, there were those who furtively followed his example
instead of his words.

Toward the end of March, 1935, the last of the Sons of Free-
dom were released from Piers Island Penitentiary and returned to
the interior of British Columbia. Some of these arrived in Grand
Forks district in time to take part in a parade protesting Pe-
tushka’s imprisonment. The parade, due in part to economic condi-
tions, was broken up by the police.

During the imprisonment of Sons of Freedom on the island
prison, there were very few fires in the Dukhobor districts of Brit-
ish Columbia, under circumstances which would lead police to
suspect arson.

Verigin was released from Headingly Jail, Winnipeg, early in
May. He took a room in a Winnipeg hotel where he assured news-
paper reporters that Headingly Jail was the best he had ever been
in, and that whether he again would be in prison or not, would
depend entirely “on the Will of God.”

A new group of colonization promoters and real estate sales-
men joined him in Winnipeg. Fifteen thousand Dukhobors were
to migrate to the wild but ridi lands of Paraguayan Chaco, where,
near a Mennonite settlement, they would have religious liberty
and be free from taxation for ten years. New York newspapers
carried a story that Dr. Enrique Bordenave, representative of

KAPUT 367

Paraguay, was in New York discussing plans for the migration,
with Dukhobor agents.

In the meantime, Verigin returned to Verigin where in a two-
hour oration he warned the faithful that they would have to leave
Canada “because Fascism is coming, but we will not go to
Paraguay.”

In Yorkton, Verigin owned six brick houses which he rented
for profit. The houses had been built by Alex Chevaldaeff, con-
tractor, when he was a member of the Christian Community of
Universal Brotherhood. In October 1932, while Verigin was in
Saskatchewan Penitentiary, he transferred legal title to the houses
to Chevaldaeff in trust. A year later, Chevaldaeff wrote to Verigin
begging him to take back title to the houses. But the same year,
Chevaldaeff was ousted from the Christian Community of Uni-
versal Brotherhood Limited, and he decided to keep the houses.

Consequently, on June 12, 1935, in King’s Bench Court at
Yorkton, Verigin sued Chevaldaeff for the houses and the court
awarded the property valued at $27,000 to Verigin.

“Peter’s Day,” June 29, was celebrated in Saskatchewan and
British Columbia, with singing of psalms, speeches and eating.
Anastasia’s small settlement in Alberta observed the holiday in
similar fashion, but declared it had nothing to do with Peter
Petrovich Verigin. At Tarrys, British Columbia, Peter Maloff the
Sons of Freedom leader, made a lengthy speech in which he re-
iterated that he was not a leader, despite the fact that many had
tried to impose leadership on him.

Peter Maloff’s oration, which his Sons of Freedom secretaries
afterwards mimeographed in Russian and English and circulated
for the world to read, touched on many subjects, and referred in
particular to Piers Island Penitentiary:

To address an assembly of people at this strange moment, and most
of all with so many different characteristics, intellectual tastes, and
psychological natures, is certainly a task and a problem beyond my
capabilities to fulfill [began Peter Maloff’s encyclical in English] I
have no special gifts of oratorical eloquence and fluency, in com-
parison to many of our modem learned prophets who c^ endlessly
arrange and form beautiful phrases and sparkling expressions full of
logical verbosity. Unquestionably on the whole my motives are fruit-
less however high and broad they appear to be . . .

My aims are impartial, free from prejudice and pretensions. For
further accuracy and lucidity of the matter, I must add that in all

368

SLAVA BOHU

my life I have earnestly strived for only one goal— to improve my
human characteristics in order to be a human being in the full sense
of the word. How many of the human qualities I have attained, I
cannot say, but whether you believe me or not, I am standing here
today as a victim of circumstances, into which I have drifted by the
deeper currents of life. Although I am an ex-convict and prison ex-
periences have modified many of our thoughts, nevertheless I am
convinced that if it were not for that incarceration I would never
have stood here And elucidation which shall follow is the consequence
of it all I believe it is my sacred duty before my conscience and the
people whose son I am by heritage, to reveal the inner desire of those
people. I shall try my best with all the honesty and understanding I
possess to expound the fundamental question lying at the back of the
Dukhobors’ present unrest. . . .

I am raising my voice from the depths of the peoples’ hearts who
have just returned from exile to face the Canadian people and their
representatives who have had so much to do with our imprisonment.
This also refers to everybody else in the world. That is, if we have
offended or hurt anyone, or all ; firstly, with our sword, the tongue ;
secondly, with our spear, the pen ; and thirdly, with the debasement
of any of your refined tastes, by our nudity, we are asking you frankly
to forgive us, as we are forgiving everyone else. More than this,
we are giving credit to one of your officials, Colonel Cooper (warden
of Piers Island Penitentiary), for his numerous wise suggestions.
Otherwise the order of things might have been far worse . . . Colonel
Cooper strenuously endeavoured to solve our agglomeration. Whether
it was the philosophical investigations of the Dukhobor history which
he undertook, or some other pressing factor ... he was considerate
regardless of his sanctified obligations . . , which required the exertion
of an iron hand.

Now we desire to make peace with you all and the whole uni-
verse . . .

The current of history moves us so rapidly that we can hardly
stop and study adequately the sequence of its events. There can be
no question that we have drifted without a compass into a vast range
of unknown waters . . .

Unnecessary to touch the question of our synthetic prison on the
Pacific Coast and the enormous expenditure it has required from the
government, not speaking of all the human reactions it has recorded.
Yet how very few of us have ever stopped to think whether it has
satisfied, even in the smallest degree, Ae purpose for which it was
created.

I venture to declare before all so-called Christians of the world
that there is more mystery about the existence and continuance of
the Dukhobors’ ideology than there is about any other existing
philosophical thought.

KAPUT

369

But the most painful and sadly unalterable truth is unfolded in
the fact that ... it does not matter who we are, or whatever polished
label we may possess, whether it is Catholic, Methodist, Episcopal,
Baptist, Evangelist, Christian Science, Salvation Army, Lutheran,
Dukhobor, Oxford Group, and so on, we daily stage with extraordi-
nary dexterity the crucinxation of their sacred universal ideals. And
is there any wonder that the Galilean has forseen long ago our
futility and asked : “Oh, ye serpents, generations of vipers, how can
you escape damnation when you are fulfilling the deeds of Satan?”

After decrying the oppression of the rich over the poor, and
quoting Charles Owen, Angelas Silesius, Sir Arnold Ewing,
Chesterton and Tolstoy, Peter Maloff came to the conclusion that
God’s righteousness “is very likely existing everywhere with the
exception of our planet.”

His righteousness is most likely supreme on Jupiter, Mars, and
all other planets of the Milky Way, but . . . here on earth . . . most
apparently he must mind his own business . . . and not interfere
with our earthly affairs engineered by such magnificent marvels
as Mussolini, Hitler, Macdonald, Stalin, Roosevelt, Aimee Macpher-
son, the Pope, Charlie Chaplin, Jean Harlow, and a thousand others.

The only thing for us all to do now, is repent. Cease to be friends
with murderers. Seek the Kingdom of God and all the rest shall be
added unto you.

Whether Peter Maloff was tmcertain of his attitude toward
Peter Petrovich Verigin, or whether he thought it diplomatic to
avoid mention of Petushka, not once did he refer to him through-
out the lengthy oration given here in greatly abridged form.

On the same Peter’s Day that Peter Maloff delivered his speech
at Tarrys, forty-six tombstones were pushed over in the Sacred
Heart Cemetery of Grand Forks town.

Sons of Freedom were suspected. Paul Vatkin, the bearded
fanatic, had a few days before been released from Nelson Jail,
where he had served a sentence of thirty days hard labor for rid-
ing a freight train out of Castlegar. But police were unable to fix
responsibility for the graveyard vandalism which amazed and
shocked the non-Dukhobor population of Grand Forks.

On September 26 Peter Verigin was in his favorite room at the
Barry Hotel, Saskatoon, where a reporter interviewed him. Seated
at the head of a table covered with newspapers on which was whole
roast fowl, bread, salt, and several whislcy bottles, he bowed to

370

SLAVA BOHU

the reporter and reached into a black leather club bag for a fresh
bottle of Haig’s Dimple; he called for clean glasses and poured
whisky for all the guests. John Maloff, an Independent Dukhobor
from Langham, who attended these parties whenever possible,
was about to open a bottle of Drewrys Dry Gingerale — ^with a
bottle opener.

“What is wrong with you?” asked Verigin, taking the bottle
from Maloff’s hand. “Is it always necessary to use the tools of
civilization? I will show you that I am one of those artists who
can do things.”

With that, Verigin slid a tumbler of whisky close to the table’s
edge. Against the lips of this thin straight glass, he placed the
beveled metal cap, and holding the bottle with one hand, he brought
his other hand down on the top of the cap with such force and
dexterity that the cap flew from the bottle, neither cracking the
glass nor spilling the whisky in it.

“Not many men can drink as much as he, and do a trick like
that,” said Maloff, admiration in his watery blue eyes. “It is nec-
essary to hit the cap exactly square ; if that is not done the glass
will smash in a hundred pieces.”

Larion Verigin, Peter’s nephew, whom he had brought as sec-
retary and interpreter from British Columbia, looked on appre-
hensively.

“Ask Mr. Verigin,” the reporter requested Larion, “what is his
exact position, how does he wish to be referred to? As spiritual
and temporal leader of the Named Dukhobors and president of the
Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood Limited?”

When Larion put the question in Russian, the others around
the table stopped talking, so they would hear all of Verigin’s
answer.

“Kaput,” Verigin shrugged. Then removing the cigarette from
his lips, he went on in Russian, several times emphasizing “kaput”
with raised hand.

Larion Verigin, in good English, told the reporter that Mr.
Verigin wished to be referred to as ex-president of the Christian
Community of Universal Brotherhood. Mr. Verigin had resigned
as president. He had resigned all his positions with Dukhobors.
Those things were now “laput” “finished, through forever.”

Another release of words in Russian from Verigin.

“Mr. Verigin sa^,” Larion resumed, “that he is not a Dukho-
bor any more. He is just an ordinary citizen of Canada. But he
will have nothing to do with politics.”

KAPUT

371

The interview gathering speed, Larion translated from Russian
to English and back again with machinelike precision. Everything
was “kaput.” Verigin was “one million times through with the
Dukhobors, through with Aberhart’s Social Credit in Alberta,
Steven’s Reconstruction, Conservative, Liberal, C. C. F. and Com-
mimist.” He put a “kaput” on all political parties in existence and
added an advance curse on any new ones which in future might
arise.

“I would have no parties,” he said in English amidst a torrent
of Russian. Fists clenched in emphasis, eyelids narrowed in in-
tensity, his baritone voice reverberated around the hotel room.
He spoke with a rapidity that made his interpreter raise his Tartar-
looking eyebrows and thrust forward his head to catch those flying
Russian words and turn them into English.

“Mr. Verigin says,” said Larion when Verigin ceased abruptly,
“all candidates elected on the basis of party representation are tied
hands and feet to dictatorship of their party. They have to vote
in Parliament in obedience to their party leaders. They can do
nothing for the people.”

“Ask Mr. Verigin on what basis he would have members elected
to Parliament?” said the reporter.

Verigin advised the Canadian people to dispense with parties,
elect “good men,” tell them what to do, “and if they do not do it,
fire them out of Parliament in four days instead of waiting four
years.” Verigin went on to say that he was a communist but not a
Bolshevik. Asked if he thought there was any truth in Prime
Minister Bennett’s statement that the unemployed trekkers riding
the freights to Ottawa meant to hold the prime minister as host-
age while they took over the government, Verigin answered : “God
knows, I can only speak for myself.”

When the next day the interview appeared in the newspapers
across Canada, Verigin’s vanity and sense of humor was satisfied,
while the public, unable to be present at Peter Verigin’s court,
found the report entertaining.

Some young Dukhobors had attended high school and uni-
versity, and were standing on their own feet. Having made their
individual adjustments to the civilization of the North American
continent, they neither looked credulously to Petushka, nor
scorned the more desirable characteristics of their ancestors. A
few less equipped young men had become lost in the shifting sands
of transition. Disillusioned with many things Dukhobor, they

372

SLAVA BOHU

were dazzled by the seamier side of Western Canada. Three such
young men, in the autumn of 1935, traveled together in the vicin-
ity of Arran town — in what was the Thunder Hill Colony of their
fathers — ^where recently stores had been broken into and robbed.
Police had not arrested them, but Joe Posnikoif, Pete Voiken,
John Kalmakoff were suspected. John Kalmakolf had served
three months for theft of grain, earlier in that year.

The way of life of these unfortunate young men, was, the fall
of 1935, aptly illustrated by a letter written in English to Peter
Voiken, at Arran, by Joe Posnikoff, then in the prairie town of
Kelvington.

September 6,
Kelvington,

HELLO HUSKER,

Pm sorry I had to leave Arran. But brother it won’t be long until
we are together again and we will do things I’m telling you. I’ll be
here for two weeks and then I’ll come to see you. I’m sorry I had
to take your knife and flask and light batteries, but they are safe
and I bought new batteries today and its O. K. Lots of girls here . . .
Boy its a good place Pete. Please come here next Friday and you can
stay with me and go home on Saturday, so this is a bargain if you
have^ time. Go to Kamsack and see John K. about that and bring if
possible because here is a good chance to do things.

Goodbye, Good Luck,

JOSEPH.

Answer me quick please.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

MURDER

ON THE AFTERNOON OF FRIDAY, October 4, 1935,
Joe Posnikotf, Pete Voiken and John Kalmakoff were back in
Arran district. They were looking for spending money and the
entertainment they liked best, and adventure of the kind they had
read about in English-language “action” novels.

None of the three young men were big in any way. Joe, the
tallest, was also the most daring. He usually thought of what “the
gang” should do next, and he swaggered the most. Pete was
shorter and more cautious. John, the smallest, unable to bluster as
readily as either of the other two, covered his indecision by fol-
lowing Joe, the leader.

Joe had managed to procure an old Buick automobile minus a
top and license plates. Its back seat was out as the boys had agreed
to “make a truck out of it.” They were really going to do things
then. “There is money to be got, if a guy is smart.”

“But tonight we’re going to have a good time,” said Joe. “Get
some homemade vodka, and maybe some girls.” There would be
a dance too, at Steinberg’s Hall, about twelve miles southeast of
Arran.

They got a quart bottle of home-brew, distilled from wheat,
and drove for Steinberg’s dance hall. En route, they stopped at
the Bugera farm, inviting Paul Bugera, nineteen, to go along with
them. The Ukrainian lad thought it thrilling to ride there with
Joe Posnikoff and his gang. The quart was about two thirds gone
when they got to Steinberg’s and looked the place over.

Joe said, “Oh hell, there might not be many girls here tonight.
Husker, you and John take the car and get those two Ogloflf girls.
If you get lost, ask in Benito, at the garage; they will know.”

When Pete Voiken and John Kalmakoff stopped at the garage,
William Wainwright, garage owner and municipal constable,
thought them suspicious characters. Pete Voiken, wearing a fawn
hat and light suit, was driving, and he spoke sharply when he
asked where Ogloff lived.

As Wainwright was about to tell him, the bus came in from
Swan River, and old man Ogloff got out.

373

374

SLAVA BOHU

“There’s Mr. Ogloff,” said Wainwright.

As the two boys, with Ogloff, pleased to be getting a ride home,
drove away. Constable Wainwright remarked to his son Phil that
those two young fellows might have had something to do with
holding up Fawcett and Smiffi’s store recently.

“I think I’ll telephone Constable Shaw at Swan River,” he said.

Constable Shaw of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police thought
it would be worth-while to question the two. He had an idea he
knew them. “Will you go with me. Bill ?”

“Sure, I’ll go,” said Wainwright. “We should find them at
Ogloff’s or get trace of them there. What time will you be over ?”

“As soon as I can get away,” Constable Shaw said.

Almost two hours later, ten o'clock, Shaw had not arrived, and
father and son began balancing the cash for the day. William
Wainwright, taking the money out of the till and his pocket,
counted it into three piles on his desk.

“We’ve not had such a bad day, Phil. There’s J. Harris’ gas
money, there’s the insurance money, and here’s Gillis and War-
ren’s sight draft money. If accounts keep coming in like they have
in the last few days, we’ll soon be square with the world.”

“Yes,” Phil said, “it’s been pretty good this fall, considering
the crop and the price of wheat.”

William Wainwright put the $135 in his hip pocket. From the
desk drawer he took a box of .38 caliber revolver cartridges,
counted out twelve, putting them in the left-hand pocket of his
■leather windbreaker. He tapped his other pocket where the .38
Colt was, and made sure he had the handcuffs.

It was eleven o’clock before Constable Shaw arrived. “I thought
it best to come in plain clothes, there’s no use scaring those fellows
with a uniform before we have a talk with them,” Shaw said.

The municipal and R. C. M. P. constables drove toward the
Ogloff farm in the mountie’s car. Ogloff and the family were in
bed. The old man came downstairs and told the policemen that
Pete Voiken and John Kalmakoff had taken his two daughters to
a dance.

"What’s the trouble? An 3 rthing wrong?” Ogloff asked.

“No,” said Shaw, “we want to ask the boys some questions.
They might be able to give us information we are looking for.”

The constables arranged to wait in the kitchen until the boys
brought the girls home from the dance; and, after a while, old
Ogloff went upstairs to bed.

Meanwhile, Voiken and Kalmakoff had taken the girls to Stein-

MURDER

375

berg’s IJall where Joe Posnikoff was waiting for them. Joe had
got some more home-brew from somewhere. There was swing
music, and square dances, and the dance went on until after three
o’clock in the morning. There was quite a lot to drink and a couple
of fights in the semidarkness outside the hall. The orchestra played
“Home Sweet Home’’ in a slow waltz time; men and women
retrieved their coats from the cloakrooms, and outside in the fall
air there was a coughing of exhausts from cold motors.

Joe Posnikoff, Pete Voiken and the two girls sat in the front
seat of the hoodless Buick, John Kalmakoff and Paul Bugera in
the back where a seat used to be.

It was dark in the Ogloff house, as it should be at that time of
the morning, when the two sisters entered the kitchen. They were
startled when a voice asked, “Where are your boy friends ?’’

“Who’s that?’’ one girl exclaimed.

At that moment Posnikoff and Voiken walked in. Constable
Shaw, snapping his flashlight on them, told them the police
wanted to ask some questions.

“What for?” asked Joe. “We haven’t done nothing.”

“We didn’t say you had done an3rthing,” Shaw replied. “But
we would like you to come with us to Benito so that we can have
a talk there.”

“Sure, we’ll come,” said Joe. “We have nothing to be scared
of, because we ain’t done nothing against the law.”

The police drove back to Benito in their car, while the three and
Paul Bugera followed in the Buick. In Wainwright’s garage the
two constables questioned them about the car they were driving.

“Why have you no license plates on it?” Shaw asked.

“Well,” said Joe, “I haven’t got a license yet. I was just trying
the car out. If I buy it I’ll get a license.”

It was after four o’clock in the morning when Constable Shaw
decided to let them go, but made them promise to return to
Benito before noon.

The four drove away in the Buick, and then Shaw had an idea
that he and Constable Wainwright should follow them.

The four drove straight to Ogloff ’s farm where Joe got the
girls’ brother out of bed to ask what the policemen had asked
about them.

They soon left again, intending to deliver Paul Bugera home,
because Paul kept saying he was tired and wanted to go home.
About three miles from Arran, two men got out of a car and
stopped them. They were constables Shaw and Wainwright.

376

SLAVA BOHU

They ordered Posnikoif, Voiken and Kalmakoff to get into the
back seat of the police car.

“What will I do with the car I have?” Joe Posnikoff asked.

“Let the other fellow, Paul Bugera, drive it into Benito,” Shaw
replied.

Paul was nervous. He drove down the road, ahead of the police
car, for about three telephone-pole lengths, and then he drove into
the ditch.

“What’s the matter ?” shouted Shaw, coming alongside.

Paul complained that the windshield was frosted and he couldn’t
see. Besides, he was sleepy.

“Get in the back,” Shaw said. “There will be time to fetch
Posnikoff’s car in daylight.”

As they drove on, Posnikoff got angry. He was mumbling
about the police having no business to arrest him. Near Arran
where the Bugera farm was, Shaw stopped the car and Paul got
out to go home.

Shaw continued on toward Pelly, Wainwright in the front seat
with him. In the back seat, the three Dukhobors talked in low
tones in Russian. Joe felt desperate; he was not going to go to
jail.

It was about two miles on south from Pelly, just as Shaw was
turning west, that Joe led the assault on the unsuspecting con-
stables. A knife flashed in the fire from revolver shots. The car
swerved off the road into the ditch. Shaw and Wainwright
slumped in their seats. Shaw had three bullet holes in the back of
his head. Wainwright had one bullet hole and a knife gash behind
his ear.

“Those buggers are as dead as gophers now,” said Posnikoff.

“We will be hung for murder.” Kalmakoff was horrified.

“It’s done now,” said Joe. “Get out of the car. We have to
hide them somewhere.”

They dragged the policemen feet first through the door, and off
the road allowance, the heads leaving a trail of blood on the
frosted prairie grass. In a hay slough, a few yards from the high-
way, they left diem.

“Skoro! Quickly! Back to the car. We have to get away from
here,” Joe ordered.

“Oh! Why was this done?” Kalmakoff ’s voice broke. “It is
terrible to kill people,” he sobbed.

“It will be yet more terrible if they catch you,” Posnikoff said.

MURDER 377

“Postoi, first we will look in their pockets. It is necessary. We will
need everything.”

They stripped the corpses of money, cartridges, took Wain-
wright’s handcuffs, and a ring from Shaw’s finger.

The car in the ditch was not damaged except where the fender
had buckled against a stone.

“It’s all right.” Joe threw a blanket over the front seat wet with
blood, and got behind the wheel.

All felt need of a drink, and after some discussion they agreed
to drive to a farmer who had a still. There they bought a gallon
of home-brew.

The white whisky made them feel so good they forgot about
sleeping and even John talked about big things to come.

“We’re going to do a lot of things and have a hell of a good
time,” said Joe. “Possibly we will go to the United States where
real big guys are.”

The sun was high, and they were only about eighteen miles from
the scene of their crime when they became hungry and turned in
to the Perpeluk’s who were Ukrainians.

Mrs. Perpeluk met them at the kitchen door. She recognized
Joe Posnikoff.

“You’re Joe, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Has there been anyone around this morning?” Joe asked
her.

“No, did you want to see my man?”

“We’re hungry. We’ll pay for our dinner,” Joe replied.

“Come in and sit down. It is near dinnertime,” wiping her
hands on her apron.

Perpeluk was sitting in the kitchen. He had just come back
from a threshing outfit that finished on a neighbor’s place at two
o’clock that morning.

Posnikoff had to introduce himself by his right name; but
Voiken gave a name other than his own, and John Kalmakoff
said that he was “John Oscar.”

“Have you been threshing on some farm?” Perpeltik blinked
his eyes from behind his cigarette smoke.

“No,” Joe replied in English, “we’re looking for some guys.”
Turning to John he said in Russian, “Ivan, bring the vodka from
the car.”

When John returned with the jug and they had asked for glasses
and poured drinks, he felt bolder. Going over by the stove where

378

SLAVA BOHU

Perpeluk’s sister’s girl was canning fruit, he told her he was a
detective.

“Ne pravda, not true,” the girl continued stirring the simmering
fruit in a large iron pot.

“Pravda !” said John, pulling from his pocket a pair of hand-
cuffs. “Look at these.”

“Let me see.” She let the spoon slip through her fingers.

He fastened the handcuffs on her wrists. She protested; he
took from his pocket a little case of keys and unlocked the
manacles.

"Khorosho! Very good!” he laughed.

But the smile left her face when Voiken took off his overcoat.
From a belt around his waist hung a revolver and a knife.

Voiken, with piratical bravado, sat down at the table, pulled out
his pistol and placed it beside his steaming bowl of soup. Joe and
KalmakofF did the same.

Three revolvers on the table.

Perpeluk’s mouth opened wide, and with thumb and fingers he
pressed his lower lip together.

“It’s all right.” Joe noticed Perpeluk’s consternation. “We are
only detectives looking for those guys who murdered the police-
men.”

“Policemen? What policemen?” asked Perpeluk.

“Didn’t you hear?” Joe went on between spoonfuls of soup.
“Didn’t you hear about the policemen being murdered?”

Perpeluk had not heard.

“We can’t tell you everything,” said Pete.

“Yeah,” echoed John. “You see detectives have to keep lots of
things secret.”

They went on talking in English and Russian. John said he
wasn’t Russian or Dukhobor, but he was Russian-German. That’s
why his last name was Oscar.

“Were the policemen buried yet?” Perpeluk inquired, still in-
credulous.

“No, not yet,” said Joe. “They have to see the coroner first.”

They poured some more drinks, paid for their meal and went
out to the car.

“If you see any guys around that look like murderers, telephone
us at headquarters,” Joe shouted as they drove away.

Perpeluk was puzzled. Surely those boys were not detectives.
But true to the traditional suspicion of the Central European peas-
antry toward officialdom, he did not notify the police. He specu-

MURDER 379

lated about it with his wife, and early in the afternoon hitched up
four horses for fall plowing.

The murderers, not sure where they were going or why, arrived
at Legebokoff’s farm, about one o’clock that Saturday afternoon.
John Legebokoff and his sister were the only members of the fam-
ily at home ; the rest had gone to town, to buy clothes, sugar and
flour, for the winter to come.

Young John Legebokoff knew the three boys ; he thought they
looked kind of drunk, and asked them where they were going.

“Oh, to some far-off place,” said Joe, getting out from behind
the wheel.

“Have an accident ?” Legebokoff surveyed the dented fender.

“Yeah, and we killed a couple of guys.” Joe went on to say they
had been driving sixty-five miles an hour.

“Sure, we killed two men,” said Pete Voiken after Legebokoff
had said that he did not believe that.

To convince him they lifted up the blanket over the front seat
and showed him the blood. As they drove away one of them
shouted tliat they were “going to America.”

Young Legebokoff stood in the yard scratching his head, then
went in the house and told his sister. But neither reported the
visit to the police.

Later that afternoon the murderers stopped at Preeccville and
bought gasoline and oil at Down’s Garage. They got to Kitar’s
farm about nine o’clock in the evening, picked up Mary Kitar and
drove to Kelvington where the two Evans’ girls, half-Indian sis-
ters, joined the party. All six drove to Fosston and had a meal in
the Chinaman’s cafe. It was late when they delivered the Evans’
sisters back to Kelvington. They took Mary Kitar home and went
to sleep for a few hours in the Kitar granary.

Sunday morning, about nine o’clock, they were traveling west
again.

During this fantastic odyssey, the Royal Canadian Mounted
Police were looking for constables Shaw and Wainwrighl, and
the Wainwright family and friends were becoming more and
more anxious. But it was not until Monday morning, fifty hours
after the murder, that John Calanchie, farmer of Arran district,
discovered the bodies. Calanchie was driving a wagonload of
grain to the elevator in Arran. Along the road his horses shied
and snorted. He tried to urge them on but when the frightened
animals backed against the doubletree, he noticed something queer
lying in the hay slough past the fence. There were two bodies. He

380

SI^VA BOHU

led the horses on. In Arran he told Bill Cheraenkoff, the British
American Elevator Company agent, what he had seen.

Chemenkoff telephoned the R. C. M. P. at Pelly. Constables
Reid and Erskine were at the scene within an hour. Corporal
Walker of the criminal investigation bureau arrived. They picked
up the trail of the murderers, questioned the Evans girls at Kel-
vington, and obtained a .32 caliber revolver shell that Clifford
Kitar had found on the granary floor of the Kitar farm. But at
the Kitar farm the trail ended.

Posnikoff, Voiken and Kalmakoff traveled fast. Less than
twenty hours after they left the Kitar farm they were more than
seven htmdred miles south-west of the Rocky Mountain entrance
gate to Banff National Park in Alberta, and only a few miles
from the British Columbia boundary. When they found they
must give particulars of the car to the park gatekeeper, they
drove east to Exshaw.

They bought gasoline at Exshaw, and when Roy Zeller, the
garageman, observed that the Manitoba license number was the
one being radioed by the police, he telephoned to R. C. M. P.
Constable Bonner at the coal-mining town of Canmore. The in-
formation was relayed east and west, and through the darkness
police in automobiles converged on Exshaw.

The hunted men turned west again.

“We will have to get another car,” said Joe, who was driving.
“We’ll hold one up and take it, on the rough piece of grade where
they are fixing the road.”

About two miles west of Caiunore, on the new grade, they
stopped. The lights of a car approached slowly from behind.

T. C. Scott of Calgary, Alberta, and his wife were in the car.
Scott was a traveling salesman for ointments, spices, medicine
and flavoring extracts. When, a few yards ahead of him, he saw
three men on the road, two of them with flashlights, he became
suspicious; took most of the money out of his pocket and slid it
under the seat. He stopped as they surrounded him with their
flashlights.

“Can you give us some gas ?” one of them asked.

“Yes,” Scott answered. “Have you anything to get it out of my
tank with?”

A hand with a revolver came through the open window; the
voice behind it said, “Get out of that car.”

Mrs. Scott faced a gun too. The Scotts got out into the middle

MURDER 381

of the road where one of the men went through his pockets, ob-
taining about $10 in silver.

The robbers obviously were nervous and undecided as to their
next move. One of them got into Scott’s car and tried to start
the motor but Scott had an unfamiliar switch on it. He got out
again, saw that he had overlooked Scott’s watch, and took that.
They talked alternately in Russian and English, asked Scott if
there was any money hidden in his car, wanted to know if Banff
was in British Columbia, mentioned “going to the States.’’

“You had better let my wife get back in the car and let us get
out of here; you have our money,’’ said Scott, still standing on
the road with his hands above his head.

“Shut up,” said one in English. Then, talking among themselves
in Russian for a few moments, they abruptly ordered Scott and
his wife into the car.

“You had better give me back my watch,” said Scott, follow-
ing his wife into the car. “You have our money.”

“You can have it back if you promise not to tell the police.”

“I promise,” Scott said, intending to notify the police at the
first opportunity.

“Can we trust you?” asked the man who seemed to be the
leader.

Scott received his watch, but they noticed his wife’s purse hang-
ing on the door and they took the three dollars from it.

“I thought you told us there was no money in the car — ”

“I hope you will leave me my handkerchief,” Mrs. Scott inter-
rupted.

“Oh, yes, madam, we will leave you your handkerchief. We
know handkerchiefs are necessary.” And, sticking a gun in Scott’s
face, “Now drive like hell. We will be right behind you. If you
tell the police, we will kill you.”

As Scott let out the clutch, they saw a glare of lights from
a car coming toward them from the west.

“I wonder if they’ll hold up this car, too,” said Scott to his
wife.

“Look ! The police,” she said.

“The robbers are right behind us,” Scott shouted to the police.

“Keep on going 1” one of the policemen shouted back.

Barely had the two cars passed when the shooting began.

Whether the two policemen or the boys started firing first, is
not known. Constable Harrison and Sergeant Wallace were stand-

382

SLAVA BOHU

ing in the path of the approaching car. Shots were exchanged
with increasing rapidity, as the first two policemen were joined
by Campbell and Combe; soon Constable Bonner and Magistrate
Hawke of Canmore arrived.

As the firing pierced the darkness, and the shots rang out on
the mountain highway. Sergeant Wallace asked Combe for more
ammunition. Wallace fell to the gravel before he received it.

Combe, noticing the figure of a man running into the spruce
trees, exchanged shots. Campbell helped Wallace into an automo-
bile. Then Combe, closing up on the fugitive car, saw something
lying under it. It had on black breeches with a yellow stripe. He
saw it was Harrison, badly wounded. Combe tried to start the
motor, but couldn’t, so he backed up a few feet with the starter.

Campbell took the dying policeman to Canmore, while Combe,
Bonner and Hawke continued the battle in the bush where the
men had taken cover. The policemen couldn’t see what they were
firing at, but they fired at the gunshot flashes for almost an hour
before Campbell returned from Canmore. The police split up into
two parties; Bonner and Hawke to the east. Combe and Camp-
bell to the west, in order to intercept traffic and stop the murder-
ers from getting too far away before help and sunrise came.

Campbell ran down the highway to stop an approaching car,
while Combe, running in the opposite direction, flashed his light
on a man propped up on one elbow with a revolver in his other
hand. Combe took deliberate aim and fired. It was Joe Posnikoff ;
he was shot twice through the left breast, once through his wrist
and once through his head.

Until dawn, Combe and Campbell patrolled their end of the
highway, while Bonner and Hawke patrolled theirs. But there was
no sign of the other two Dukhobors.

At daybreak they received word that Sergeant Wallace had
died in Canmore. Police and citizens formed a posse.

William Neish, park warden of Banff National Park, and
Harry Leacock, Dominion government storekeeper at Banff, vol-
unteered to hunt by themselves. They searched the bush about
two miles west of the park gate. In the new snow, they saw foot
tracks of two men, leading farther into the bush. They followed
them for about fifty yards when someone ahead opened fire.

Neish couldn’t see an3^hing through the snowstorm, but he took
a chance and .shouted, “Come out, we have you covered !’’

Another shot was the answer.

MURDER 383

Neish and Leacock lay in the snow of the hillside and kept
shooting. Soon there was a scream.

“You got one, Bill,” said Leacock, pointing to a log with a rifle
barrel sticking over it. Leacock called out that if anyone was
alive he should surrender for it was useless to continue the battle.

The answer was another shot.

Bill Neish fired at the log, just an inch below the protruding
rifle. The firing ceased. Mounted police, who had heard the shoot-
ing, arrived. All advanced toward the log. Behind it Pete Voiken
and John Kalmakoff were lying, both dying men.

By noon, Voiken and Kalmakoff were in the hospital at Banff.
Both liad been shot in the stomach. On KalmakofFs finger was a
signet ring wtih the initials “J. G. S.”

Pete Voiken died about five o’clock that afternoon, without
saying anything. JCalmakoff talked disjointedly: “We were all
shooting . . . yes, we held up a man and his woman. In Saskatche-
wan, Joe fired at the policeman . . . Pete stabbed Wainwright . . .
I did nothing then. . . . Some cops are not wise. Benito police
should have put handcuffs on us. Too late now. They lost their
lives and we lost ours, all through a little mistake.”

So Jolm Kalmakoff died. The total death toll was four police-
men and the three Dukhobor youths.

News of the first ugly murder near Arran, followed by that
of the dash across two provinces and final desperate killing of
two more policemen in the mountains bordering British Columbia,
shocked the Dukhobors. It was the first time a Dukhobor had
been found guilty of murder since the sect migrated to Canada
thirty-six years before.

John Kalmakoff’s seventy-year-old father and crippled mother
waited for relatives to bring their son’s body home to Arran.
Gregori Posnikoff, father of Joe, went to Banff for the body of
his son.

Peter Verigin, whose confused brain was less sensible to the
outrage, took opportunity to blame the tragedy on “Communist
provocators” who had “poisoired the minds” of the three young
men.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

MAN THE UNKNOWN

MAN, THE UNKNOWN is the title of a book by Alexis
Carrel, published in 1935. Carrel wrote that “A group, although
very small, is capable of eluding the harmful influence of the
society of its epoch by imposing upon its members rules of con-
duct modelled on military or monastic lines. It is chiefly through
intellectual and moral discipline, and the rejection of the habits of
the herd, that we can reconstruct ourselves. Sufficiently large
groups could lead a still more personal life. The Dukhobors of
Canada have demonstrated that those whose will is strong can
secure complete independence, even in the midst of modern civili-
zation.”

Few sects in the midst of civilization were as widely “un-
known” as the Dukhobors ; their persistent secretiveness, peculiar
creed and behavior allowed them to be used as examples for and
against various theories.

For his turbulent conduct one night, Peter Verigin was ejected
from the Yorkton Hotel. Soon after, he let a contract for the
building “of a hotel of my own, one that nobody will kick me
out of.” That autumn, en route from Yorkton to Brilliant, he
made another of his spasmodic appearances in Saskatoon, where,
in Peter Boshuk’s Venice Caf4 he enthralled an impromptu au-
dience with fast talk and loud profanity far into the night. Sha-
fonsky, a man who prided himself on his White Russian heritage,
was again with Verigin. So was the diminutive Russell Popoff,
young Dukhobor, poker-game promoter, erstwhile chauffeur and
aide to Petushka. With them in the cafe booth sat John Maloff,
faithful satellite from Langham. While Verigin roared in Russian,
constantly waving his arms, curious Slavs of Saskatoon’s West
Side pressed so close to his table they blocked the passageway.
Behind the overcrowded stools of the lunch counter, stood two
rows of fascinated gapers.

Boshuk, the Ukrainian proprietor, short, stout and ordinarily
genial, wished with some irritation that Verigin would leave. His
restaurant was not a theater I

But Verigin thundered on that he was a free citizen of Canada.

384

MAN THE UNKNOWN

385

He worked in the interests of the toiling people. He would help
Canada get rid of Bolsheviks; he was sorry that three young
Dukhobors had strayed from the ways of God and murdered four
policemen.

He loosed a torrent of profanity against John Bonderoff who
had forsaken him and written a book maligning him. He, Verigin,
would get that book. He would have the Sons of Freedom get
that unholy book, if they had to burn Bonderoff’s house down.

He soon went to Brilliant, where letters awaited him. These,
as usual, were mostly from believers, some of whom enclosed
gifts of money: “Dear Petushka, Christ has Risen. Slava Bohu.
We hope, dear Petushka, that you are in good health . . There
were a few letters in English, which h